


Daystar

by WinterWombat



Category: Exalted (Roleplaying Game), Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alt-Power Taylor Hebert, F/F, Lesbian Taylor Hebert, Originally Posted On SpaceBattles, Taylor Joins The Wards, Taylor is a Dawn Caste
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterWombat/pseuds/WinterWombat
Summary: A new sun rises over Brockton Bay. Taylor Hebert has power to spare, but strength alone won't be enough to save her home. How can she become worthy of a power that can save, or break, entire worlds?Worm/Exalted crossover where Glorious Solar Fighting Powers fail to fix all of the protagonist's problems. You shouldn't need to know much about Exalted, if anything, to enjoy it. Updates on Spacebattles every Thursday.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	1. Prologue 0.1

January 1st, 2011

My dad wasn’t breathing.

I had my ear pressed right against his mouth, straining for even the slightest sound, the faintest whisper of air against my skin, but there was nothing. No sound. No movement. No life.

I wanted to break down and sob into his chest, and just let everything out, until... until what? Until I ran out of tears? Until the falling snow buried us both? Until someone, anyone came along and fixed everything that was broken?

I wanted to break down, but I couldn’t, because I could hear someone waking up further into the alleyway. Someone who I clearly hadn’t hit hard enough the first time. I stood up and started walking towards him. He and his friends all wore the red and green colors of the ABB, one of the three largest gangs in Brockton Bay. He was trying to push himself away from me, his face looking pale and sick in the golden light that surrounded me.

Golden light? It hurt to think, but I could just barely recall how the glow had lit up the whole alleyway, just before I’d heard my dad scream my name, and then...

My legs buckled and I fell back to my knees, right before throwing up into a nearby pile of snow. Something had happened, but I couldn’t put the pieces back together. I staggered back to my feet and kept walking.

It was all just a desperate blur, but sometime in the last few minutes I’d apparently become a parahuman. It didn’t feel important. My newfound powers let me knock out a half-dozen armed gang members with my bare hands, but they couldn’t do anything that mattered. They hadn’t saved the only person who still mattered to me. I was still just as weak, just as worthless as before.

I stepped over to the retreating ABB ganger, grabbing him by the neck and hauling him to his feet before slamming him against the brick alleyway wall. He wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but that also didn’t feel as important as it should have. I stared into his eyes as they filled with panic, and felt...nothing. I didn’t even know why I had grabbed him, just that I needed something from him.

“Why?” I heard myself say. He looked at me without comprehension.

“Why,” I tried again, “were you here? This isn’t your territory. It’s supposed to be safe.” I almost had to spit the word ‘safe,’ as my hand tightened involuntarily around his neck. We were only a block from my home, on the edges of the Docks but not actually on the ABB’s turf. Dad offered to host the Dockworker’s Association New Year’s party out our place specifically because he wanted everyone to stay clear of the Docks at night. I’d gone out for some fresh air, just like I had a hundred times before, and then.. And then...

“Lung!” the man said, choking out the word around my iron grip on his windpipe. I’d forgotten he was there. “Wants. New territory. Told us. To make examples.”

His face had started to turn all sorts of unusual colors, so I relaxed my grip just a little. After a few shuddering breaths, he met my eyes and continued.

“He sent a bunch of us out, told us to put up tags and then come back with something valuable. Wallets. Guns. Girls…”

“Girls,” I growled. I was starting to remember the things he and his friends had been saying as they grabbed me.

My captive seemed to misunderstand that as a question. “For the brothels,” he gulped out, “or ransom, if their parents were important enough. We didn’t want to kill anyone. If that stupid asshole hadn’t-”

I punched him, snarling as more golden light coruscated down my arm and into my fist. I heard a thundering crack as a cloud of dust and debris erupted into my face. When the dust cleared, I saw that I’d missed the man, instead punching a crater the size of a dinner plate into the brick wall right beside his head. My hand glowed with a strange inner light; it didn’t have a scratch on it.

My captive, unfortunately, had passed out. I rummaged around in his jacket pocket for his phone before letting him slump to the ground. My fingers moved on autopilot, dialing 911, while my mind raced. What was I going to do now? The smart plan would be to wait for the cops, give a statement, call the PRT about my powers and join the Wards. It made the most sense, but it also made me feel sick to my stomach.

My life had been hell before this; why would joining the parahuman boy-scouts make it any better? They’d put me in a shiny new costume, make me smile and wave to the crowds like everything hadn’t just fallen apart, like it wasn’t thanks to fucking capes like them that things had even gotten so bad in the first place. They’d make me go back to school.

I could almost hear Emma’s voice, see the sneer on her face. “Oh, Taylor, I knew you were pathetic, but I never even imagined you’d be so useless that both of your parents would die because of you!”

Somewhere far away, the 911 dispatcher was telling me to please stay on the line. The phone dropped into the snow. I turned around, took one last look at dad, and ran.

January 3rd

I staggered out of yet another alleyway, one hand buried in my hoodie’s front pocket while the other checked my chest for broken ribs. It was a futile gesture; I didn’t know how to distinguish the pain of a broken bone from that of a giant bruise, so I couldn’t figure out anything more detailed than “yup, that sure does hurt!”

Which it did. A lot. Ouch.

Still, I wasn’t dead, nor were any of the ABB members I’d picked a fight with. Even better, I’d managed to take them down without any obvious glowing, so they probably wouldn’t guess they’d been beaten up by a cape. The ABB only had two capes of their own, but I clearly wasn’t ready to tangle with either of them.

Back on the street, I stopped a moment to catch my breath before walking towards the abandoned building I’d been sleeping in the last few nights. I’d gone into that fight expecting it to be a walk in the park, but it turned out that my power wasn’t actually all that powerful. I was stronger and tougher, but I clearly wasn’t much of a brute, and faster reflexes didn’t mean that I automatically knew how to fight. That trick with the glowing fists might have been useful, but it was a bit obvious, and I wasn’t confident that I could use it without accidentally killing someone.

I’d started off strong, catching the gang members off guard with a stronger punch than my scrawny limbs would suggest I was capable of, but it didn’t take them long to rally against me. In the end, I only really won through sheer endurance, taking three blows for every one I landed myself. If any of them had been carrying a gun or a knife, I might have died.

Eventually, I reached my hideout, only to find that someone had been by while I’d been out. They’d taken my little pile of kindling, the spare shirt I’d hung out to dry, and the ratty old shopping bag that had held my entire entire store of bottled water and the half sandwich I’d been saying for lunch. They hadn’t been able to grab the soggy, beaten-up mattress I’d found to sleep on, so they’d just slashed it up with a knife instead. How nice of them.

Ah, fuck it. I didn’t sit down so much as I just collapsed on the ground. At least I wasn’t broke anymore. I pulled out the gang members’ wallets from my hoodie pocket and started rifling through them for valuables. I ended up with a little over a hundred dollars and a Subway gift card, both of which I greedily stashed away in a zip-up pocket. It wasn’t a fortune, but it meant I didn’t need to worry about food for a while longer.

Leaning back against the wall, I held up my right hand in front of my face, focusing on it until it started to glow. My power was just so frustrating! It felt like I had this vast ocean of energy flowing through me, enough power to level buildings or throw cars into space or something. Just holding it inside me muted fear, filled me with confidence, made me feel like I could accomplish anything...until I actually tried to do something with it. Then, nothing. It could make my fists as strong as steel, let me punch brick walls for half an hour without suffering even so much as a bruise, but that didn’t draw on more than the smallest flicker of the fire I felt roaring inside me. I could control the energy, change how it flowed through my body with only a thought, but no matter how much I poked and prodded it didn’t seem to actually do anything.

I sighed, and then forced myself to my feet. Fine. It only made sense that I’d get the world’s most underwhelming power. I’d dealt with disappointment before, far worse than this, and I’d survived so far. There was a strange kind of freedom in knowing that I’d hit rock bottom. All of the worst things I’d imagined had already happened, which meant that there was little left for me to fear. So what if my power wasn’t going to fix things for me automatically? I’d just have to find a way to fix my life without it.

I made my way back to one of the more occupied streets, trying to remember where the nearest subway was located. All the while, though, my eyes were scanning the nearby store fronts, looking for gyms, dojos, any place that could teach me how to fight properly. I still didn’t have an actual plan beyond the next few days, but learning how to take care of myself couldn’t be a bad start.

January 6th

I felt like shit for missing dad’s funeral, but the community center only offered free self-defense lessons on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and I'd go crazy if I had to wait until the middle of next week. Plus, it wasn’t exactly like I could even show my face there. I couldn’t quite say why, but I didn’t want the rest of the world to know I was still alive. I wasn't going back to my old life, no matter what, and so I'd let everyone assume I was gone until I knew just what my new life was going to be.

I squared off against my practice partner, and older woman with frizzy white hair and workout clothes that would have been garish even back in the 80s when they’d been made. She charged at me, stabbing out with the plastic cafeteria spoon we’d been asked to imagine as a knife. I side-stepped the attack, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into one of the joint-locks the instructor had shown us. My partner dropped the ‘knife’ with a hiss of in-drawn breath.

“Sorry!” I yelped, immediately letting go. “I didn’t mean to twist that hard.”

She only laughed, though. “Don’t worry, hun, I’ve been through plenty worse. I was just surprised at how fast you moved. You sure this is your first class?”

Her tone was good humored, fortunately, so I didn’t take it as an accusation. Years of abuse from the Trio had trained me to search every compliment for hidden barbs. Being out in public like this, letting myself be friendly with people, still wasn't easy. I was relying on my power to help buoy my confidence and manage the anxiety I felt. Even then, I don't think I could have managed it if I hadn't given everyone a fake name. If these people ever betrayed me, if everything became too intense, Ms. Linda Carnaham could just vanish from their lives, never to be seen again.

“Maybe I was a ninja in a past life,” I said, picking up the spoon so she could take her turn disarming me.

“I’d almost believe it,” I heard our instructor say from behind me. Sergeant Camden (just calling her Mary felt wrong, no matter what she said) was the only other woman here as tall as I was, and her bulky frame probably weighed more than twice what I did. She worked in the PRT, but volunteered at the community center whenever she found the time. I felt lucky to be here on one of the days she was teaching.

“You picked all this up faster than anyone else I’ve seen,” she said. “If my recruits learned even half as fast as you, I’d be out of a job in a week.”

I did my best not to blush at her praise. “It must be because I have such a good teacher,” I said, with a slight hint of playful sarcasm to make it clear that I wasn’t just brown-nosing.

Inwardly, though, I’d been wondering. “Learning fast” was an understatement. It seemed like I never needed her to show me anything more than once before I could do it myself. Everything she taught me just felt natural, like I only had to go with the flow and let my body move flawlessly through every step. Not only that, but I could feel my power responding to the training, the energy flows inside me shifting or intensifying in response to my motions.

Sergeant Camden chuckled, and before she could move on to examine another pair of students, I spoke up.

“Actually, Ma’am, I have a question?”

“It’s Mary, not Ma’am,” she said, “and shoot.”

“Well,” I said, “To be honest, I’m not just here to learn self defense. I’m actually a huge fan of professional MMA, and I’ve been thinking of trying out some of that stuff myself.”

Camden smiled indulgently. “Well, from the looks of things you’ve probably got a knack for it. Why show up here, though? I’m not exactly running rigorous physical training, here.”

I looked down at my shoes, trying to sound embarrassed. “Money’s kinda tight in my family right now,” I said, “and I wasn’t sure if I’d be cut out for anything serious. It’s been really fun so far, though, so I thought I’d ask if you know any good ways to find an instructor?”

She grinned at me, and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I might have a few ideas. Meet me in my office once the class is done, and don’t worry so much about money. I know a few people who would who’d be happy to give a few lessons, especially since they all owe me a few favors. I only ask two things in return.”

“What’s that?” I asked. This was going better than I’d hoped.

“First,” she said, “I don’t want you joining any of the gangs. I’m not getting you training just so you can go use your skills to help bastards like Kaiser or Lung.”

“No chance of that,” I said, meaning every word.

“Good,” she replied. “Second, if this all works out for you, consider joining up with the cops or the PRT. I’m not saying you have to enlist, but give it a thought. We could use more people like you on our side.”

I couldn’t stop myself from blushing this time. How long had it been since someone had looked at me and seen potential instead just a problem child? I had to look down to avoid letting her see me tear up from her words.

“I’ll try to keep impressing,” I said. When she walked away, I went back to practicing with my partner. It suddenly had a lot to think about.

January 18th

“Stop right there, little lady.”

The voice coming from behind me was doing its best to drip with menace, but mostly it just sounded drippy. Still, I stopped as he asked.

“You didn’t think you could just walk down this private road without paying a toll, did you?” he continued. Mentally, I added another tick to the tally. That was three “pay the toll” threats this week, along with two “show you a good time”s and one “it’s dangerous out here, why don’t we walk you home?” I was beginning to think that all the gangs in this city learned everything they knew about muggings from movies.

“Now turn around,” the mugger said, and I complied. There were four of them in total, carrying improvised weapons and wearing Merchant colors. I preferred to go after the ABB when possible, but focusing on one gang exclusively risked drawing too much attention, so today I’d decided to go fishing through the drug-peddlers’ territory. I had to choke back a giggle as I saw that I probably had a solid two inches of height and 15lbs of muscle on the one who called me ‘little lady.’

“Please don’t hurt me!” I said, faking a tremor in my voice. “Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t get your blood all over my nice new jacket!”

Only one of them seemed to have actually heard me, since he frowned while the others just leered and advanced on me. Before the genius in their midst could say anything, I moved, covering the distance between me and the muggers in a heartbeat and slamming my elbow into the first one’s nose.

He howled in pain, hands coming up to stop the blood now gushing from his shattered nose, and I took the opportunity to hammer three quick blows into his ribs. My power surged inside me and I gladly took the extra strength it offered, letting it fill me like light fills a crystal chandelier. The Merchant to my left swung at my with a crowbar, so I grabbed the now-stunned ringleader by the shoulders and spun him into the path of the strike.

When the crowbar hit his back with a sickening thunk, I kicked my hapless punching bag into his shocked friend, intending to knock them both down. Instead, I felt my power sing through my limbs, as if it was telling me how it wanted to be used. I released my power just so and felt it rush up my leg, not hardening it to boost the blow, but actually slamming the power itself into my target. The merchant shot backwards like he’d been launched out of a cannon, bowling over his crowbar-wielding ally in the process before smacking into the side of a garbage bin.. On instinct, I reached a hand out and grabbed the crowbar as it fell right into my palm.

For several seconds, nobody made a sound. Then I turned to look at the remaining two, tossing my new crowbar into the air like a baton-twirler in a marching band, and allowed myself a toothy grin. From there, it was all over but their crying.

Half an hour later, I strolled back into my latest hideout with that grin still on my face, tossing the Merchants’ wallets onto the ‘to sort’ pile with the others. I wasn’t so concerned with theft now that I lived on the third floor of a building with no intact stairs, inaccessible to someone without flight or the enhanced jumping ability I’d figured out. I grabbed a bottle of water from my icebox (literally an insulated box filled with ice) and flopped down onto my pile of salvaged mattresses. I’d picked up some more cash, taken out a bunch of Merchants, and even learned a new use for my power.

Honestly, that last bit almost felt like overkill at this point; the last half dozen fights had barely made me break a sweat. That should have been a relief, but it seemed like the better I got at this fighting business, the more I itched for a real challenge. It was becoming increasingly clear that my power wasn’t nearly as much of a lemon as I’d first thought, and didn’t that meant that I should actually do something with it?

That meant, much as I hated to think it, that I couldn’t keep running from what had happened to me. When I was struggling to survive, it was easy to put away the memories and concentrate everything on whatever was in front of me, but now I’d messed things up by earning myself the time to think and relax. Nothing I did with my power would ever feel right if I couldn’t face up to the reason I was doing it.

I sighed, pulled out the old notebook I’d been using as a journal, and tried to get comfortable. It felt like I was going to have a long night.

January 25th

“Mom...dad...I have to tell you something you’re probably not going to like.”

I knelt in front of my parents’ graves, and the cold I felt had nothing to do with the winter weather.

“I wish I’d come to talk to you both sooner. I could say that I didn’t have a chance, that I was too busy just trying to get by, but the truth is that I just didn’t want to have to face you. I think some part of me was hoping that I’d get myself killed before I ever had to deal with…”

I paused, trying to hold myself back from tearing up until I realized that was pointless and just let it out.

Minutes later, once I managed to find my voice again, I said “I’ve asked myself what advice you would give, if you were here right now.” I looked towards my mother’s gravestone. “You would probably tell me to go back and finish high school, find something that I loved to do, and then find some way to change the world with it. You, on the other hand” I turned towards my dad’s headstone, “would just tell me to stay safe, to keep my head down.” I chuckled. “Of course, when that didn’t work, you’d probably make me join the Wards instead.”

I sat back, and took another deep breath.

“I promise I’ll do my best to make you both proud of me, but there’s something I need to do first. I know it’s a bad idea, and there are a million and one reasons why I shouldn’t do it. I’ve tried to talk myself out of it so many times that it made my head spin, but I just. Can’t. Let go.”

I clenched my fists, and my power flared involuntarily, golden light shining briefly from my brow. I didn’t want to think about mom and dad ever seeing this side of me, but this was my last chance. If I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about my plan, then I’d know for sure that it wasn’t right.

“It’s just...ever since you died, dad, I’ve seen what a shitho-, er, what a terrible place Brockton Bay really is. I would have died a dozen times over if I didn’t have powers. The same thing that happened to you is happening again and again every day, but no one steps up to stop it. No one does anything about the gangs because they’re too scared of the villains. I can’t let that stand, not when I have the power to stop it. I need to show everyone that the gangs aren’t invincible.”

I paused, waiting for a sign. If I saw dad’s face in the clouds, if I heard mom’s voice in the wind, maybe I wouldn’t have to do this. I could go to the police, tell my story, start living with a foster family. It wouldn’t be hard to have a normal life, or as normal a life as a cape could hope for. Letting go, moving on, it would be the toughest part, but I knew it was possible. All I wanted in return was just a single moment of feeling like they might not be totally gone.

I held my breath and listened. I looked up at the sky, blinking away tears. Nothing. Of course. They were gone.

“I’m going to kill Lung,” I hissed, and just like that, everything felt somehow lighter. “He’s the biggest villain in Brockton Bay, so powerful that no one dares to fight him. Even the Protectorate are afraid of him. I should probably be afraid of him too, but when I look at Lung I don’t see the vicious crime-lord or the dragon who went toe to toe with Leviathan and lived. All I see is the reason why I don’t have a father anymore.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but someday soon I’m going to kill him for that.”

I stood up, indecision replaced with cold certainty. As I turned to leave, though, I whispered one last thing under my breath.

“I just hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”


	2. Prologue 0.2

**February 10th**  
  
I staggered into my new apartment, locked the door behind me, and collapsed onto the couch without even bothering to turn on the lights. The place was tiny, and ridiculously expensive, but it was clean and it came pre-furnished. More importantly, it came with a landlord willing to take payments in cash and not ask for ID. It was a pretty good deal, really, as long as I didn’t think too much about who his other tenants might be, or the do-not-fuck-with-me look he gave me when he explained that rent was due promptly on the 1st of every month. Fortunately for my piece of mind (and possibly my kneecaps) I had returned home tonight with the next two month’s worth of rent money stashed safely in my hoodie pocket.  
  
I pressed my face into the couch cushion grumbled some wordless complaint, resisting the urge to prod at all my new aches and bruises. Just because my power would get rid of them by tomorrow morning didn’t mean I wasn’t allowed to whine a bit. Only a bit, though. With a sigh and a super-heroic effort of will, I pulled myself back up into a sitting position. My night wasn’t yet finished.  
  
The apartment was almost completely lightless, of course, so I took a deep breath and channeled a fraction of my power to life, like breathing on smoldering embers to kindle a flame. Golden light filled the room, pouring forth from the sunburst symbol that I knew was now blazing on my forehead. I’d been confused as hell the first time I’d seen it; as far as I knew, most parahuman powers didn’t come with their own logo built in. I still didn’t know what it was for, but I didn’t mind the design, and it made for a handy flashlight. I kept the glow going just long enough to find my way to the actual light-switch, and then headed for the kitchen.  
  
\---  
  
Half an hour later, I came back to the couch with a steaming plate of penne all'arrabbiata and fresh-baked garlic bread. After a month without even the most bare-bones kitchen, I tried to cook for myself as much as possible. It was fun, cheaper and healthier than fast food, and all the practice was helping me improve my cooking skills at a rapid pace. For tonight’s meal, I’d picked up some ingredients from a nearby bodega and followed a recipe online, making a few tweaks here and there whenever it felt appropriate.  
  
I sat down with a theatrical sigh, put my plate on the coffee table, then pulled my laptop onto the cushion next to me and flicked the power button. I had plenty of time to eat while I waited for it to boot up, which was good, because once I took the first bite I just couldn’t stop.  
  
The food was way too good for something I’d cooked maybe once before in my entire life. The sauce was rich and sharp, with just the right amount of spiciness. The noodles were exactly as I liked them, just a little firmer than was typical. The garlic bread was so perfectly crisp and aromatic that it made my eyes roll up into the back of my head. I’d heard that hunger made for the best seasoning, but this was ridiculous. Either I was starving myself without realizing it, or I’d somehow learned how to make professional quality italian food overnight.  
  
Powers? Powers. Nothing about them made sense, so I might as well enjoy the perks, right?  
  
All this luxury hadn’t come out of nowhere. After my visit to the cemetery, I’d decided that I couldn’t just keep rolling muggers without the gangs eventually taking notice. I’d needed an alternative revenue stream, and after a bit of poking around, I found one perfectly suited to my talents. I learned that Hookwolf of the E88 ran a couple of underground fighting pits throughout the city. Word of mouth said that they were honest, paid well, and were about as safe as an illegal fight club could be.  
  
I wasn’t happy with the idea of getting involved in Nazi shit, even peripherally, but it turned out Hookwolf fancied himself some kind of honorable viking warrior, and so he saw fighting as a ‘sacred rite’ that went above politics. Some of the people I talked to saw it as evidence that he wasn’t as bad as the other fascists. To me, though, it just sounded like he was happy to applaud someone in the arena one night, and then murder them the next for being the wrong color in the wrong part of town.  
  
In the end, two things won me over. First, the money really was as good as the rumors said. Second, a lot of the other fighters would be nazis themselves, and fighting meant I’d get to punch their teeth in. Once I took the plunge, it was easy going. Even concealing my powers, the fights were a piece of cake; the hardest part was letting my opponents get a few hits in so I didn’t look too good. I had a bit of a knack for bringing some theatricality into my fights, and I was willing to do as many matches in a night as they’d let me, so it didn’t take long for me to become something of a fan favorite.  
  
Tonight was just the latest in a long series of very lucrative outings. I was going in twice a week, and probably making more money than my dad ever pulled in from his job with the Dockworker’s Association. I could understand how some people could enjoy making a living from this; I was making good (if not great) money, getting to do something I excelled at, and regularly hearing people praise me for my accomplishments. Plus (and this might just have been years of repressed rage talking), fighting turned out to be a lot of fun. I wasn’t even going to go out and beat the crap out of innocents just for the rush, unlike some people I could name, but I’d never felt anything quite like the sheer electricity of pitting my strength and skill against other fighters and coming out on top.  
  
It wasn’t something I could do long-term, though, and not just because I had more important goals. If any of the Empire lackeys running the rings took too much of a shine to me, or even worse, figured out that I was a cape, they’d give me the choice to either join their gang or die. I figured I could probably keep the current arrangement going for another two or three months, but after that I’d need to find a new way to pay the rent.  
  
So, once I finished my unnaturally delicious supper, I wasted no time getting down to work. I used my laptop to bring up Parahumans Online and its attendant wiki, then pulled out my pocket notebook from its hiding place underneath one of the couch cushions. The computer was useful for research, but I didn’t trust my actual plans on anything but pen and paper. I’d already filled dozens of pages with info on the various heroes and villains of Brockton Bay, and tonight I planned to add a few more. I grabbed a freshly sharpened pencil and started reading.  
  
\---  
  
“New Wave,” I murmured to myself, while idly chewing on the back of my pencil. “Family team, all unmasked. Eight parahuman members, all considered fairly powerful. Lots of Blaster and Mover powers, which is good, since nobody wants to fight Lung at close range. Brandish and Manpower are too melee focused to be useful; Glory Girl flies, though, so she might have potential. Panacea, their healer, could be useful for keeping the team alive and in the fight, but she probably wouldn’t want to risk being too close to the actual battle.”  
  
I frowned, then brought up youtube and did a video search for ‘New Wave vs Lung.' I found the first video that wasn’t just a bunch of cape nerds arguing over hypotheticals and pressed Play. It was obviously shot from someone’s smartphone, so the quality was far from impressive, but I could still see well enough to make out the boarded-up buildings and crumbling sidewalks of the docks district. In center focus, Brandish and Manpower moved to help a few unlucky bystanders out of what was quickly becoming a burning building, while three streaks of light that were probably Lady Photon and her kids flew rapidly overhead, pelting Lung with intense-looking beams of light.  
  
Unfortunately, the beams seemed to do little more at first than stagger Lung, until he grew large enough that they only served to make him angrier. The flying heroes had to start dedicating less of their attention to strafing runs, and more towards avoiding the fireballs Lung was hurling at them. It was starting to look like Lung was going to bring down New Wave with sheer stubbornness, until a pickup truck came flying in from outside the shot to smash him against a nearby building. The cameraman turned sharply to look at where the truck flew in from, revealing Glory Girl posing with her hands on her hips. Moments later, she blurred through the air to grab Brandish in a bridal carry, while Lady Photon floated down to pick up her husband. By the time that Lung shoved the truck off of himself and climbed back to his feet, New Wave was already gone.  
  
Damn. I’d had a good feeling about New Wave, but it didn’t look like they’d be much help. Their blaster powers hadn’t managed to do nearly enough damage. At best, they’d distract him; at worst, they’d just help him ramp up faster. Plus, my research so far suggested that they might be willing to fight me just to prevent me from finishing Lung off, so overall they offered too little benefit for too much risk. I marked my observations in my notebook, then pulled up another New Wave vs Lung video, just in case it revealed anything new.  
  
I’d yet to find any capes who could serve as useful allies against Lung, and I had pretty much run out of options. The Protectorate had some real heavy hitters, and I’d love to have Miss Militia on my side, but they wouldn’t go after Lung’s head without a kill order. The Merchants had seen some success fighting Lung, but there’s no way I would trust them to watch my back. Empire 88 had the biggest cape roster in Brockton Bay, and would likely be all too willing to murder Lung given a chance, but I wasn’t yet desperate enough to work alongside nazis. The Undersiders had even less firepower than New Wave; the best they could do was make silly faces at Lung and then run away. Faultline’s Crew had potential, but I was a long way from being able to afford their services, and rumor had it that they refused to do mercenary work in their hometown.  
  
Shadow Stalker had looked promising, with her versatile power and willingness to inflict grievous harm on criminals, until I read that she’d joined the Wards back at the start of the school year. All of the stories about her after that point were just as squeaky-clean as the rest of the junior hero team, though the reporters still liked portraying her as a bit of a brooding lone-wolf type.  
  
Unless I could somehow put my own team together, the Protectorate was still looking like my best option, which pissed me off. They had so much power, even more so if they called for reinforcements from other cities, and yet they allowed Lung to rule a quarter of the city like his own personal kingdom. Besides, I doubted they’d even listen to someone my age. They’d probably just stick me in the Wards and relegate me to shopping mall meet-and-greets or anti-drug PSAs at highschools. I’d be on a team, but not one that actually got to do anything.  
  
Wait.  
  
The thought struck me so suddenly, I barely even noticed myself bite clean through my pencil.  
  
What were the odds that at least a few of the Wards weren’t exactly happy with being glorified mascots for the Protectorate? It wasn’t like all of them would have signed up just to hand out autographs and endorse sports drinks. In fact, I suspected that at least one of them was itching for a chance to get in proper fights more often. The Protectorate would never approve of sending the wards out to fight against goddamn Lung, of course, but the Protectorate didn’t have to know.  
  
I brought up the PHO wiki again and searched for the Wards ENE. Their entries were polished and highly detailed, probably copied in large parts from the official Protectorate webpage. I only skimmed the page to start off with, but I smiled when I saw that Vista was listed as a Shaker 9. Tremendously powerful, in other words. She was probably only twelve or thirteen years old, but that didn’t mean much, did it? Powers didn’t care about age, after all. I started taking detailed notes on all of the Wards, with a reminder to check out how the Wards program itself actually worked. I still didn’t have a real plan, but I could see one forming in the distance.  
  
 **February 18th**  
  
“Another day pass, babe?”  
  
“Yep,” I said, handing a few bills to Leah over the reception desk. “Both gym and pool, please.”  
  
“Y’know,” she said, opening the cash register, “It’d be a lot cheaper if you’d just bite the bullet and get yourself a membership.”  
  
I shook my head, but gave her a grin that I hoped was disarming. “Thanks, Leah, but I’m pretty happy with things as they are.” Honestly, a membership would be a lot cheaper, and it wasn’t like I didn’t need the money. The only problem was that the sign up process called for ID, and I didn’t want to risk letting the world know that Taylor Hebert was still alive.  
  
“Aw, don’t be like that,” she said, giving me my change and an exaggerated pout. “Look, I’ll even offer a discount for my favorite customer.”  
  
I didn’t have a good answer to that, so I just shrugged, while failing to hide the blush rising to my cheeks. Leah was only a year or two older than me, but she worked at the gym almost full time. I suspected that her parents might own the place. She was also, well, kinda really cute, with big dark eyes and a splash of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. I’d almost turned and run the first time she smiled at me, and it took until my third visit before I could speak in complete sentences around her. I was starting to suspect that she might be flirting with me.  
  
“Fine,” she said, with an over-theatrical sigh. “Be all mysterious if you want to. Just remember that you’re still my favorite, and I’d love to see more of you.” With that, she handed me my receipt and the key to a rental locker.  
  
“More?” I asked, unable to quite meet her eyes. My face felt like it was on fire. “I’m already working out here almost every day.”  
  
I turned to go towards the women’s locker room, doing my best to walk instead of scurry. Just before I reached the door, I turned back and see Leah grinning at me.  
  
“I know what I said, Taylor. Enjoy your workout!”  
  
Once the door closed behind me, I let out a deep breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. My pre-workout routine was basically automatic by this point, which unfortunately left me time to think. Clearly, I was just nervous that Leah was starting to get suspicious of my odd behaviour. I probably should have changed to a different gym after last week, but this one was so convenient, and it had one of the biggest pools, and…  
  
And Leah really was very cute, I had to admit. Not the best reason for me to risk discovery, but to hell with it. Avenging hero or not, I had the right to be a useless lesbian if I wanted to. The internet told me so. It wasn’t like anything could ever come of it anyways, and besides, I wasn’t exactly swimming in opportunities to get positive attention from pretty girls.  
  
But, if she was indeed flirting with me (a point I was not yet ready to concede), I had no idea why. I was shy, more than a little awkward, and calling my looks ‘unremarkable’ might be giving me too much credit. In other words, I wasn’t what you would call the most impressive catch for all the Bay’s eligible gay bachelorettes. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed clear that Leah was probably just being nice to me out of pity, and I’d only embarrass myself thinking that she might...  
  
I took a deep breath. Something felt wrong. My stomach was twisting itself in knots, and my power roiled within me, restless, angry.  
  
I went back through my previous train of thought, and frowned. I knew all too well where thoughts like that went; hours spent in front of the mirror, scrutinizing every last flaw, going over the ever-growing list of reasons why I’d never be deserving of affection. It was almost a compulsion, as if torturing myself would numb me against the trio’s attacks. I hadn’t seen them in almost two months, but it seemed like the bullies at Winslow were still keeping me down.  
  
Well, fuck that. If I was going to kill Lung, I couldn’t afford to waste energy tearing down my own self esteem. I checked to make sure that the locker room was still empty, and then let the essence of my power suffuse me from head to toe. Golden light washed through the room, not just from my brow, but from a shining halo of power wreathing my body. The essence burned away self pity as easily as sunlight banishes the night. It reminded me that I was strong, and getting stronger every day in ways that the trio would never understand. I could rise above their childish insults.  
  
With another deep breath, I let the power drain away, turning off my personal power-induced lightshow. I wasn’t going to fall back into weakness. I owed it to myself to take a good long look in the mirror and see myself as I really was. So what if I was unattractive? I didn’t need to be pretty to rip Lung’s heart out of his chest. I’d just accept it and move on.  
  
The locker room had a few standing mirrors (to allay any worries about two-way glass), so I tracked one down and steeled myself. I looked up, ready to face my dour features and too-wide mouth with confidence, and then almost fell backwards.  
  
Holy Shit. I looked...good?  
  
It was hard to describe the exact changes; my skin was clearer, my cheekbones maybe a bit more pronounced, my eyes somehow more intense, but the overall effect was shocking. It wasn’t like I’d transformed into a supermodel or anything, but the face staring back at me in the mirror was undeniably attractive. My features were still recognizable, just refined, like I was actually the actress hired to play the role of Taylor Hebert in a film adaptation of my life. Combine that with the muscle tone that I’d been building up thanks to all my physical activity, and some modest but definitely noticeable curves that I’d somehow failed to notice growing in, and-  
  
Well, holy shit.  
  
Okay, I knew that low self-esteem could distort a person’s image of herself, but this was ridiculous. Either I’d gotten so high on my own self-confidence that I was hallucinating, I was the world’s most ironic late bloomer, or my power was changing how I looked. Regardless, I was about as far away from ‘ugly’ as I’d ever imagined being. I should have felt ecstatic, or at least a little smug. Instead, it was like I’d just found an extra prize at the bottom of a box of cereal. Yay, I guess?  
  
Classic Taylor move, discovering how good I actually looked just five minutes after passionately resolving not care about my appearance. If I was still going to Winslow, this might have been life changing. Now, though, it was pointless.  
  
Unless, that is, being pretty could actually help me beat up Lung after all…  
  
Emma had given me plenty of examples of how good looks could be used to manipulate people, after all. As superficial as it was, being attractive would probably help me sell the Bay on the idea that I was a hero, and if Glory Girl was any example it’d definitely help me win fans. There was even a chance that this could help me recruit additional capes to take down Lung. I wasn’t happy with the idea of manipulating people like that, but I’d already resolved to leave worries about morality until after Lung was dead.  
  
I reached into my pockets to try and find my notebook. I needed to look over my preliminary plans and see how this could open up more opportunities. As I did so, I accidentally sent the rest of my pocket litter drifting to the floor. Reaching to pick it up, I saw the receipt for today’s gym pass. There was a phone number written on the back, along with a couple cartoon hearts and the words ‘call me!’  
  
In the mirror, I saw my (still slightly uncanny) face turn so red it almost seemed to glow. I shoved the paper and my notebook into my locker, fumbled with the lock, and then went off towards the main gym room. Machiavellian scheming could wait for later. Right now, I had way too many emotions to handle, and I was going to deal with them the healthy, mature way: by ignoring all of it, loading up a barbell, and doing squats until my legs went numb.  
  
 **February 27th**  
I walked into the arena to the sound of the crowd chanting my name.  
  
Well, not MY name, exactly. No way I was going to give my real identity to a bunch of Nazis. Everyone in Hookwolf’s rings fought masked (something about playing off cape mystique), and after I’d been through enough fights to prove I wasn’t an anonymous nobody, the arena managers had given me the utterly generic ring-name of ‘Thrasher.’ I had to admit that, even though it wasn’t really me they were cheering for, it felt...nice. In a couple weeks I’d probably try to pretend I’d never even heard of this place, but for now it felt good to be appreciated.  
  
Fighting felt good. Winning felt even better. Combat, I had discovered, was the world’s most effective antidepressant, at least where I was concerned. It was a shame I’d have to give this up before too long, though with any luck I’d be able to make up for the loss by beating up villains. That was a worry for the future, anyways. Tonight, I had a one on three match with some of the Empire’s better hitters. I was going to have to get hit more than I liked in order to sell the performance, but I promised myself that every Nazi asshole fighting me tonight was going to leave the ring with fewer teeth than they had coming in.  
  
  
As I walked towards the center of the ring, a pair of spotlights high up in the rafters tracked me with their beams. Hookwolf’s arena looked like the first image you’d probably bring to mind if someone said ‘underground fighting ring,’ just with higher production values. Chain-link fences around the fighting ring? Check. Spectator seating cobbled together out of cinderblocks and scrap? Check. Ominous music playing as my opponents entered the ring? You better believe it.  
  
  
Except there was only one person coming out of the opposite entrance, and when the spotlights flashed on to illuminate him, I had to stop myself from just jumping over the cage walls and running while I still could. There was no mistaking the metal wolf mask he wore, nor the tattoos that covered his bare chest. I was now in the ring with Hookwolf, one of the E88’s strongest capes. His power let him transform his entire body into a giant mass of metal blades and spines, sculpted into a roughly canine shape. He was one of the few capes I’d resolved never to get in a fight with; trying to punch him in his Changer form would have about the same effect as sticking my fist into a running garbage disposal. He was in his human form at the moment, but according to PHO it only took him a few seconds to go full metal monster.  
  
If the crowd had been roaring for me before, they were going completely mad for Hookwolf. He took his time walking into the ring, basking in their adoration. He was famous for never putting his own occasional matches on the schedule, just showing up wherever he felt he could get a good fight. Part of the allure of these events was the chance that the legend himself could appear at any time, like a god walking among mortals. I’d assumed that it was all actually pre-arranged behind the scenes. I’d apparently assumed wrong.  
  
Hookwolf kept walking until he was only a dozen feet away from me, and I saw that he was holding a microphone. The normal announcer wasn’t saying anything; I’d already been named, and Hookwolf needed no introduction. He raised the microphone up to his mask, paused for a few seconds as if savoring the moment, and then pointed right at me with his other hand.  
  
  
“Thrasher!” he yelled, and the crowd jumped back to peak intensity. He lowered his pointing hand, pausing again to let the roar die back down.  
  
“I’ve been following your last few fights,” he continued, “and I’ve liked what I’ve seen!” His mask covered his entire face, but I hear in his voice that he must have been grinning like a shark.  
  
“You fight like a real warrior, with ferocity tempered by discipline, brutality mingled with elegance. You fight like someone born to bite and bleed, a natural killer. You walked into the ring like you were meant to be here, and you made your name if the blood of those who challenged you. Hell, I can see a little of myself in you.”  
  
Hookwolf locked his gaze on mine, and his tone turned from praising to menacing.  
  
“The problem,” he said, as the crowd grew hushed, “is that you’ve been holding yourself back. You slow yourself down, take hits you could avoid, try to pretend that you couldn’t tear the other fighters apart any time you wanted. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever lost a match except when you wanted to.” He started walking closer to me, and I somehow knew that if I tried to back away he’d rip my guts out in an instant.  
  
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” I shouted, even though it was doubtful that anybody but Hookwolf could hear me. “I’m just here for the money. I don’t give a damn about you and your goddamn viking cult!”  
  
Hookwolf laughed like he was having the time of his life, while I focused on all the reasons I had to hate this nazi piece of shit. Pissing him off could be dangerous, but showing cowardice was sure to be lethal, so I had to keep myself too angry to be afraid. With the way the smug metal-faced asshole was obviously toying with me, It wasn’t hard.  
  
“Either you’re throwing matches to cheat the house,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said anything “or you’ve been sandbagging to keep a low profile.” ‘To avoid recruitment’ went unspoken. The Empire was well known for drafting new members from the ring’s best fighters. “I don’t really care which. Either way, it stops tonight.”  
  
“I want to know,” he bellowed, his voice gaining an inhuman reverb, “if the steel you’ve shown so far runs all the way to your core, or if your courage is only skin deep. So, we’re going one on one until I have my answer. The more you impress me, the faster this goes, but if you let me get bored…”  
  
A mass of gleaming metal erupted from under the skin of his right hand, shredding the microphone in an instant before vanishing back into his flesh. He stepped back, theatrically cracking his knuckles. Smug bastard.  
  
I yelled right back at him. “Talk is cheap, asshole! What the hell are you waiting for?”  
  
“That’s more like it!” Hookwolf yelled to the rafters. “For that, whelp, I’ll let you have the first shot.”  
  
I wasn’t going to get a better opening than that. I took a stance, coiled my muscles, and burst across the ring as fast as I could run without drawing on my essence. Right before I would have come into his range, I sprung into the air, twisting my body around to hit him square in the chest with both feet. It was the kind of stupid move that would normally leave me wide open, but if Hookwolf was going to give me a free hit, I wasn’t going to hold back.  
  
If I’d channeled essence into the blow, I could have sent Hookwolf flying into the cage, probably cracked his ribs. If I did that, though, he’d figure out that I was a cape, and then he’d either force me into the Empire or kill me right here. Unfortunately, without essence infusing my strikes, I was still bound by all the normal laws of physics, especially the ones that meant I couldn’t just casually bowl over someone who weighed at least half-again what I did. Hookwolf staggered back but kept his footing, while I practically bounced off him, contorting mid-air to land in a three-point stance in front of him.  
  
I wasn’t going to give him a chance to recover. I dashed forward again, jamming a fist into his solar plexus. Instead of the hard muscle I was expecting, my fist smashed against something that felt like solid steel. If it wasn’t for brute powers, I was sure I’d have at least a few broken fingers. It was like all his muscles had been replaced with steel cables. Considering his powers, that might well have been the case.  
  
I pushed the pain down and used my other fist to drive an uppercut right into his jaw, and heard the satisfying crunch of his teeth smashing together. Hookwolf reeled, and I was about to follow up with another hit, but all of my fighting instincts suddenly screamed ‘danger.’ I threw myself backwards just barely fast enough to avoid his vicious knee strike. The asshole had only been pretending to be stunned.  
  
Dropping the facade, Hookwolf straightened up, and gave me a beckoning ‘is that all you got?’ gesture. We both knew that he could just hang back and force me to come at him every time, just so that he didn’t get ‘bored’ enough to shred me into bleeding chunks. That was just fine to me.  
  
I dashed at Hookwolf again, tensing up for another flying kick, but at the very last second I threw myself at the ground instead. I’d moved too suddenly for a soft fall, but being even a minor brute meant I didn’t need to care. I slid between his legs, a move that would never have worked if he’d been in a proper fighting stance instead of showboating. In one fluid motion, I kicked back up onto my feet, spun around, and delivered a powerful kick to the back of his knee.  
  
Even with all my strength behind the blow, it only bent Hookwolf’s leg forward a few inches. Almost growling in frustration, I threw myself back at press against the fence behind me, kicked off it into the air, and brought my elbow down on the top of Hookwolf’s head as hard as I could, filling the arena with the sickening sound of bone smashing against bone.  
  
This time, Hookwolf didn’t even pretend to be stunned. He threw himself backwards at me, using his body weight to crush me against the fence, driving all the air from my lungs. Before I could get my breath back, he turned around, grabbed me by the shoulders, and hurled me bodily across the ring. I only barely managed to right myself before I would have gone skidding over the mat, and I looked up to see Hookwolf charging at me way faster than someone that large should have been allowed to move.  
  
I sidestepped his dodge and ducked under his follow-up right hook, but I only managed to block his third strike with both arms, and it still hit me hard enough that I could swear I heard my bones creak. I tried to back up, get myself some breathing room, but he was relentless, and it wasn’t long before my arms started going numb from absorbing his strikes. I felt like I was trying to run blindfolded up a busy highway, surrounded by huge masses of metal moving at deadly speeds mere inches away, threatening to crush me to paste if I ever missed a step.  
  
I didn’t even see the attack that actually hit me; I felt a sudden flash of pain, spots of blackness swam over my vision, and I found myself sprawled across the mat, my jaw aching, blood trickling out of my nose. Hookwolf could have killed me then, but instead he just stood silently, his gaze fever-bright as he watched me pull myself back to my feet.  
  
“Having fun yet?” I asked, earning another laugh in response. I wiped my face against my forearm, leaving both smeared with blood. I had the advantage of speed, but Hookwolf was vastly stronger than me, and so tough that even my strongest hits only seemed to tickle him. Worse than that, he was too smart to give me any easy openings or let me turn his own strength against him. At this rate, the best I could do was survive until he decided to stop, and I wasn’t willing to bet my life on that happening any time soon.  
  
It was time to try Plan B: Diplomacy. I’d been experimenting with my power for the last two weeks, trying to see if I they had any non-combat applications. I tried meditation, online video tutorials, even calling out magic spells in dog latin, but my first success had come while I was just people watching. If I observed someone and just sort let my physical senses fade into the background, concentrating on my essence instead, my power seemed to take in hundreds of little clues about my target and synthesize it all into a new understanding of how best to make them see me in a favorable light. It was a handy trick, even if it was a tiny bit too close to a Master power for my comfort, so I had practiced with it again and again until it became second nature.  
  
I turned my instincts towards Hookwolf and let my power do its thing.  
  
 _Do my best to die with dignity,_ my power advised. Well, fuck that. Time to come up with a Plan C, fast.  
  
“You want a bit more?” I said, a manic grin spreading across my face. Hookwolf met my gaze, and I didn’t need to see his face to tell how much fun he was having. “You want a bit more. I can do that.”  
  
I charged at Hookwolf, full speed, releasing just a trickle of essence to push me faster and further. I let myself glance down at his legs just for an instant, checking to make sure he was still keeping his stance too damn wide. Just as I’d hoped, Hookwolf noticed the tell. When he moved to counter a low blow, I flared my essence and leapt up as high as I could, skirting the limits of what should be physically possible for a non-parahuman. I planted my feet on Hookwolf’s shoulders and pushed off again, vaulting just high enough to pull myself over the top of the fence and drop down into the crowd.  
  
The area around me immediately erupted into chaos, the spectators struggling to get away from me running into the ones who were trying to press closer to the action. I moved as fast as I could away from the ring, towards one of the big concrete pillars, shoving people out of my way as I went. Behind me, I heard the sound of tearing metal, and a grotesque howl that could only have come from Hookwolf.  
  
“Coward!” he yelled, his voice booming over the panicking crowd. “By the time I’m through with you, you’re gonna wish I’d just killed you in the ring!” He still sounded mostly human, thank goodness. I’d gambled that he wouldn’t be able to take his metal form without shredding the panicking crowd, and that he would have just enough human decency not to slaughter dozens of his own fans. I was still alive, which meant the gamble had paid off so far.  
  
The concrete support was just wide enough to completely block Hookwolf’s view of me when I ducked behind it. As soon as I was sure I’d vanished, I braced myself against and pillar and kicked the nearest burly-looking E88 goon right in the chest, while channeling my essence into a burst of explosive force. The skinhead went flying backwards, but thanks to the press of the crowd he only made it a couple inches before slamming into someone else. The two of them fell backwards together, still propelled by the momentum of my kick, and quickly knocked into someone else, setting off a chain reaction that moved through the crowd like a wave. Up close, anyone could see what I was doing, but from a distance it probably looked like I’d just kept running through the crowd.  
  
Hookwolf laughed, his voice rapidly growing closer. “No escape, bitch!” I held my breath, willing myself to silence, and reached out to put my hand one of the nearby cinderblocks people had been sitting on. I drew on my essence as much as I could without starting to glow. I’d only get one shot at this.  
  
An instant later, Hookwolf came into view on my right, dashing full tilt towards the disturbance in the crowd. I was already swinging the cinderblock, pushing as much essence into my limbs as possible until it felt like my veins should be blazing with golden light. With his wolf-mask cutting off his peripheral vision, the asshole never even saw it coming. I felt the impact rumble through my arms all the way down my spine, and it was the most beautiful sensation I’d ever experienced.  
  
The concrete block didn’t just break against Hookwolf, it exploded into powder. His mask shattered into a half-dozen metal shards, cutting deep into his face. His entire body hung in the air for a single, pristine moment before he crashed to the ground hard enough to shake the floor. By that time, though, I was already looking for another weapon. That hit was enough to kill any normal human twice over, but I was counting on Hookwolf being made of tougher stuff.  
  
It only took me about ten seconds to find a sturdy looking length of metal pipe, but by the time I came back with it Hookwolf was already back on his knees, trying to use the support pillar to pull himself up to standing. Before he could get any further, I stepped up behind him and swung the pipe like a baseball bat against the back of his head. He actually gave a grunt of pain this time, though I could barely hear it above the crunch of his nose breaking as his face slammed into the concrete support.  
  
Hookwolf slid backwards to sit on his heels, eyes glazed over in pain. I swung the pipe again, this time like a golfer going for a long drive, and hit him upside the head hard enough to send him sprawling on his back again. This time, he didn’t try to get back up.  
  
After Hookwolf managed to catch his breath, he grinned up at me through bloody teeth, and spoke in a hoarse, raspy voice. “That’s more like it, Thrasher! I thought I was gonna have to kill you, but you’ve gone and impressed me enough to let you live.”  
  
He started to pull himself up, but I jammed one end of the pipe into his throat, pushing his head back to the ground and cutting off his breath.  
  
“You’re not ‘letting’ me do anything,” I hissed down at him. “Yield.”  
  
He glared back up at me, and I saw fury kindle behind his eyes, only to fade a moment later. We both knew that he could pop his blades again and shred me before I could do anything, but that would ruin the little scene he’d set up. He slapped his hand against the concrete floor three times, loud enough that everyone around us could hear, and I lifted my weapon off of his windpipe. The whole time, that smile never left his face. I offered him my hand, as the little drama we were staging demanded, and he took it, letting me pull him back up to his feet. All around us, the crowd (what remained of it, at least) had gone silent.  
  
It was Hookwolf who broke the quiet. “Holy shit,” he said, sweeping his arms out to bring the whole crowd into his speech. “Will you look at the balls on this one?” He turned to face me fully, and reached out to pull me into one of those wrist-grip handshakes that movie action heroes were always so fond of.  
  
“I owe you my thanks,” he said, “for showing these pussies how a real predator fights. No hesitation, no remorse, just the instinct for violence! If I didn’t yield, you were really going to try to kill me?”  
  
Somehow, even with the way his broken nose pinched his voice, he still sounded imposing. I just met his gaze and shrugged.  
  
“I had no intention of just ‘trying,’” I told him, and grinned. It was pure macho bullshit, but Hookwolf must have loved it, because he threw his head back to laugh at the top of his lungs.  
  
“Damn,” he said, “I’m glad I didn’t have to rip your goddamn arms of tonight. How do you like the sound of “Cinderblock” as a new arena name? Commemorate the occasion?”  
  
I didn’t know how to respond to that, because there was no way in hell I was ever stepping foot in this place ever again after tonight. Eventually, I just nodded.  
  
“Eh,” he said, shrugging, “we can work on it. Right now, I bet you’re wondering what happens next?”  
  
I nodded again. I kept my face impassive, but my thoughts were racing. If he was going to force me into joining the Empire, this is where it would start. I’d already chosen which exit to head for if I had to bolt out of here.  
  
“Well,” he said, “that depends on how you answer my next question.”  
  
I tensed, ready to duck away if he tried to grab me.  
  
“So, young warrior,” he said, leaning in closer, “do you drink?”  
  
Hunh?  
  
My confusion must have shown on my face, because half the crowd broke out laughing. When Hookwolf just kept looking at me with that same earnest expression, I eventually managed to shake my head.  
  
“That’s fine,” he said, clasping a hand on my shoulder. “I can respect someone who wants to keep their body pure. That doesn’t mean I can’t stand a round of drinks for the rest of my crew so we can properly toast you name!”  
  
A cheer went up through the crowd, and I realized just how someone like Hookwolf inspired so many people to follow him. He scared you so hard you thought you were going to die, then turned around and hit you with this sudden generosity. It made you feel like you’d earned his respect, and once you had that, you’d do anything to keep it. Hell, I had to stop myself from grinning and laughing along with him, and that was knowing full well that he’d happily make bratwurst from my intestines for any number of reasons. He wasn’t going to force me to join because he didn’t think he needed to.  
  
“Don’t worry,” he continued, after the crowd quieted a bit, “I’m not gonna keep you here. Go home, lick your wounds, rest up, whatever you like. Just make sure to stop by the office on the way out to get your pay, plus a little bonus from me.”  
  
I nodded, then managed a small smirk. “Okay, but don’t expect me to give you that nazi salute or anything.”  
  
He chuckled at that, as expected. “Nah,” he said, “you’re free to go. If you change your mind about the Empire, though, there’s a place waiting for you on my personal team.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I lied, and made my way towards the front office.  
  
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Hookwolf called out behind me, “Cinderblock!”  
  
They were still cheering when the door closed behind me.  
  
\---  
  
An hour later, I stumbled into my apartment with a white-knuckled grip on more money than I’d ever seen at once before in my life. Hookwolf’s ‘little bonus’ was enough to keep me set up here for months without ever having to go back to the arena. No wonder he was so confident that I’d come back to join him; I knew way too many people who’d be willing to put up with a little fascism and murder for that kind of money.  
  
I wasn’t going back, of course. Before tonight, I was sure that no one had even suspected a thing about me. Hookwolf proved me wrong in a way I was never going to forget. I wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer, balancing between the need to avoid notice and the hunger to act at my full potential, especially since my powers were still growing stronger and showed no signs of stopping.  
  
The time had come to move on. I’d been holding off on the next stage of my plan in order to keep training with my power, but the truth was I’d accomplished everything I really needed to do weeks ago. I was scared of what might happen next, but I had to go forward anyways.  
  
I started packing up my apartment, putting a few changes of clothes into a duffel bag, and sorting the rest of my stuff based on how I’d be dealing with it. Dishes and spare clothes would end up in a box outside a goodwill. My notes, I would burn, as well as my phone and laptop once I’d smashed their hard drives and sim cards. I’d keep some of my money hidden with the rest of my belongings, and hide the rest somewhere only I could reach it, just in case. I didn’t have to erase my entire existence here (which would probably mean setting fire to the whole building), but I needed to leave this life and never look back.  
  
Tomorrow, I would join the Wards. I didn’t like the idea of putting myself under the PRT’s thumb, but with their backing I’d have access to training, gear, and information I couldn’t get anywhere else. I would bide my time, pretending to be their perfect little teenage hero, all to make sure they had no reason not to trust me. At the same time, I’d be working alongside the other Wards, doing my best to be the ideal teammate and earn their respect, or even better, their loyalty.  
  
Most people didn’t find the Wards all that impressive, but when you stopped thinking like a hero and just focused on _solving problems_ , there were a half dozen different ways they could be the most terrifying group in Brockton Bay. I wasn’t trying to steal the Protectorate’s junior hero team out from under them, of course. I just wanted to borrow them for a little bit. Manipulating them like that would probably burn any bridges I might have built with them, as well as royally pissing off the Protectorate, but what did that matter? I couldn’t see them birdcaging me over it, and every other punishment was just time, in the end. Even if the whole hero thing didn’t work out, I’d have plenty of chances to rebuild a life for myself once I’d made the world a bit more worth living in.


	3. Rising 1.1

**February 28th**  
  
I pressed my way through the mob filling the lobby of the PRT building, feeling invisible in the midst of the chaos. In my basic jeans and worn-out hoodie, I looked just like any other teenager, waiting for one of the building’s guided tours in hopes of catching a glimpse of some hero. I was wearing a blank mask to conceal my face, but so were half the kids, and more than a few of the adults. You could buy them in the gift shop. This was probably the only place in the city where a mask would help me blend in rather than stick out.  
  
I hadn’t realized, until that, just how much comfort I’d found in anonymity. I’d spent the last two months being nobody in particular, knowing no one I couldn’t just walk away from at any time, owning nothing to tie me down. I hadn’t needed to worry about getting trapped in a hell like Winslow, or about other people betraying me, because I could just vanish at any time and become someone else. Now, I was about to give all that up. The rest of the world still thought that Taylor Hebert was dead, but as soon as I stepped back into her shoes, they would never just lose track of me that way again.  
  
Reaching the front of the lobby, I took a deep breath and focused on the steady pulse of my essence. I could always feel it on some level, but now I did my best to watch it flow through me, to see it strengthen every part of me it touched. Strengthening me enough, I hoped, to actually go through with this. My scrapes from last night’s fight had already healed, but my nerves were still shot, my senses still hyper-alert for any sign of danger. I knew I was running away, again. The hard part was making sure I was also running towards something.  
  
It took several minutes, but eventually I felt my essence kindle within me, seeping into my flesh and bones like the comforting warmth of a hot both. I didn’t know if this was an actual application of my power, or just an odd sort of guided meditation, but it helped me to relax. The tension was still there, underneath my new calm, but for now I was in control. I stepped forward out of the crowd and approached the front desk.  
  
“Hello,” I said, voice steady. “I’m a new parahuman, and I’d like to join the Wards.”  
  
\---  
  
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in a small soundproof room away from the main lobby, chewing on an oatmeal and raisin cookie. There was a whole plate of various snacks in the middle of the room’s only table, next to a small tower of canned soda and bottled water. All of it had been waiting here when I’d been shown in, even though everything tasted fresh. Did they set up a room like this every day, just in case a new parahuman happened to wander in?  
  
When I heard the door suddenly open, I turned to face it and nearly choked on my cookie. Miss Militia, second in command of the local protectorate, intensely badass Blaster cape, and one of my favorite childhood heroes, had just walked into the room with me. Not only that, but she was smiling at me. Her signature scarf completely covered her mouth, sure, but I could see the smile in her eyes.  
  
Next into the room was a woman I only recognized from my recent research: Emily Piggot, director of the PRT ENE, and thus the highest ranked person in this building. She was large in a way that few people really were, not chubby so much as somehow swollen, in a way that spoke more of ill-health than of simple diet. Her expression was neutral, her pace steady, but I could notice a slight stiffness in her movements that suggested she was in some amount of pain.  
  
Behind her, it was impossible not to notice the towering power-armored form of Armsmaster, leader of the Protectorate ENE and my future boss. I was surprised that the floor didn’t shake every time he took a step, but then, he was known to be one of the world’s foremost Tinkers, and unnaturally light armor was far from the weirdest thing that Thinkertech could apparently do.  
  
I shook my head and did my best to pick my jaw up off the floor. I’d been expecting to deal with some kind of minor functionary, not the three highest-ranking people in the building. Shit, they were really pulling out all the stops for me. Did they do this for every new recruit, or had they somehow found out about me beforehand?  
  
Then again, did it really matter? The plan was the same, even if I wasn’t dealing with the kind of minor functionary I’d expected. If these people were about to become my bosses, it was even more important that I make the best first impression possible.  
  
Piggot nodded in my direction as she sat down in the chair opposite me. I started to stand, reaching out for a handshake, but she only fixed me with a steady look of...suspicion? Disapproval? She was difficult for me to read. She didn’t shrink back from my hand, just glared at me until I withdrew it.  
  
“Sorry,” said Miss Militia, taking a seat next to the director, “but we have a no-handshakes rule for first meetings. Striker powers.”  
  
That made sense, I supposed, especially considering the rank of the people I was dealing with. I looked towards Armsmaster to see if he was going to sit down as well, but he just moved to stand near the door.  
  
“No rudeness intended,” Piggot said, not exactly smiling. “Now, Introductions. I’m Emily Piggot, director of the PRT East-Northeast. My two colleagues, I suspect, need no introduction.  
  
While she spoke, I started trying to focus on the concentrations of essence that seemed to pool just behind my forehead and at the base of my neck, bringing my social insight ability to the fore. It hadn’t helped last night with Hookwolf, but it should be of more use with people who weren’t actively trying to kill me.  
  
“Daystar, ma’am,” I said, nodding deferentially to Piggot. _Be respectful,_ my power seemed to say. _Take things seriously, yield to her authority. Use your visible powers as little as absolutely possible._  
  
“Pleased to meet you, Daystar,” said Miss Militia. _Be open and friendly. Show enthusiasm about being a hero. Allow her to help me if I get the chance._ It looked like Miss Militia was the real deal, an honest-to-god hero who just wanted to help people. I did my best to hide my surprise, but let my smile shine through. This was a good sign.  
  
“Do I need to tell you my real name?” I asked, not bothering to conceal the hesitation in my voice.  
  
“Not right now,” replied Piggot, “but you will eventually if you decide to join the wards. That said, the only people who will know that are the ones here in this room, and the Wards themselves once you decide to unmask to them.”  
  
“We’ll also need to contact your parents,” Militia added, “so if you haven’t told them yet…”  
  
“That...won’t be necessary,” I said. “Both of my parents are...deceased.” I’d been rehearsing this conversation for most of the last month, in a hundred different variations depending whoever it was I might be giving it to. I didn’t have to reach for the words, but that didn’t make it less painful.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Miss Militia said. She sounded like she meant it. “Other relatives, then? Grandparents?”  
  
“No one.” I shook my head. “I’ve been living on the streets since I triggered.” Not exactly true, considering I’d spent most of the last month in a rather nice one-bedroom apartment, but what I was really saying was that I’d been all on my own. “It’s been months, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve been declared dead by now.”  
  
Piggot frowned. “You’ll become a ward of the state, then, at least at first. We’ll have to get you a case worker as soon as possible, they will need access to your health and educational records.”  
  
I’d expected as much. “Is there a place for me here to stay until then? I’d rather not…”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Miss Militia said, concerned but still doing her best to sound positive. “We’ll figure something out. Do you need any medical care?”  
  
I allowed myself a faint smile. “No, thankfully. My powers help with that.”  
  
“Speaking of which,” I almost jumped as Armsmaster spoke for the first time. “Can you tell us about your powers? It might affect the sign-up procedure.”  
  
 _Stick to the point,_ my social sense told me, _flatter him, but not too obviously._ _Don’t drag out conversations any longer than necessary._ Armsmaster seemed like a real piece of work, according to my power, but at least he’d be easy to get along with. I gave him a short nod, and started reciting my prepared explanation.  
  
“I’m a minor Brute and Mover; as far as I can tell, I’m about as strong, fast, and tough as it’s possible for a human to be, maybe a little bit more, maybe a little less. I heal several times as fast as an ordinary person, not fast enough to call regeneration, but definitely helpful. It’s hard to be sure, but I don’t think I can get sick anymore, either.”  
  
Armsmaster’s mouth curled in disappointment. “Not very impressive, then, but still useful.”  
  
I shook my head. “Sorry, sir, but there’s more.”  
  
“You’re a grab-bag cape?” he asked.  
  
“You could say that,” I replied. “I also have a minor striker power. I can make my fists as hard as steel when I punch or block. It works with my legs too, probably any part of me I can use to attack. When I concentrate, I can enhance my strikes with a sort of kinetic push, sending a target flying without actually hitting them any harder.”  
  
“That sounds like it synergizes well with your other abilities,” Militia said. Her tone was friendly, but I couldn’t help but notice her give Armsmaster a pointed glare.  
  
Piggot, on the other hand, gave me knowing look. “That’s not the last of your abilities, is it, Daystar?”  
  
“No ma’am,” I said. She didn’t sound hostile, but something about her attitude wasn’t sitting right with me.  
  
“I also suspect that I have a sort of Thinker power. Ever since I triggered, I’ve found myself able to pick up new skills much more easily than normal. It’s hard to explain, exactly. I wouldn’t call myself unintelligent before my trigger, but now everything I try to learn just seems to come naturally. The effect seems strongest with skills relating to combat, but I haven’t yet found anything it doesn’t work for, at least a little.”  
  
“That sounds a bit like Uber,” Armsmaster said, sounding thoughtful.  
  
“A bit, yes,” I said, “if what I’ve heard is true. Unlike Uber, though, I still take time to build up skills, and they don’t vanish when I’m done with them.”  
  
“An interesting set of abilities,” Piggot said, “If not exactly what I was expecting. With a name like Daystar, I imagined you would be some kind of Blaster or Shaker.”  
  
I’d been expecting this question. “It’s because of how my striker powers manifest. Golden light, ma’am, like the sun. As well as, well, this.”  
  
I grasped a trickle of essence inside me and willed it to surge in intensity for a moment. The golden glow suddenly filling the room told me that the eight-pointed sunburst symbol had appeared in its usual place on my forehead.  
  
Behind her scarf, I got the impression that Miss Militia was smirking. “PR is just going to love her,” she said, like some kind of private joke.  
  
“It saves them the trouble of having to come up with a logo,” I said, and was rewarded with a small chuckle from her. Armsmaster still seemed thoughtful, and Piggot...Piggot was starting to look outright suspicious.”  
  
“Why do I get the feeling,” she asked, slowly, “that you’ve been saving the best for last?” I couldn’t put my finger on the inflection she used for “best,” but it didn’t sound friendly  
  
She wasn’t wrong, though.  
  
“That’s because what I’ve told you is only the full extent of my power right now,” I said, and paused to let the words sink in. “I believe that I have the ability to gain more powers over time, permanently, as well as strengthening the ones I already have.”  
  
Miss Militia leaned over the table towards me “Do you mean like Dauntless?” she said, intent but not unfriendly. Piggot merely looked smug, like she had me all figured out, while Armsmaster suddenly stiffened. I was surprised, and not just because I hadn’t thought his posture could get any more stiff than it already was. Don’t compare myself to Dauntless, my insight informed me. No shit, power.  
  
“Not...exactly,” I said, trying to think of what to say next. In fact, comparing myself to Dauntless was exactly what I had planned to do. Everyone made a big deal about how he actually become stronger over time, and I’d been hoping the PRT would jump at the chance to have another cape like him on their roster.  
  
Piggot looked like she was about to start talking over me, so I spoke up before she had the chance. “Dauntless just needs to imbue objects with his power. Mine is more like,” I took a not entirely feigned pause, “like exercising a muscle.”  
  
Armsmaster seemed to relax and lean in slightly, while Piggot gestured for me to continue.  
  
“When I triggered,” I went on, “I only had my striker power. I could punch things really hard, but I didn’t have the technique or the conditioning to back it up. I started going on runs, working out at an all-night gym, taking some of the free self-defense classes at the local community center. It only took me a few days to get into actual shape, and I just kept improving from there.” I didn’t mention all the practice I’d gotten against muggers and pit fighters. That sort of thing wasn’t consistent with the impression I wanted to give.  
  
As I spoke, I saw the expression on Piggot’s face go from curious to slightly smug, while Miss Militia’s eyes dimmed, going from encouragement to...pity?  
  
Something wasn’t working, but had to keep going anyways. “My power makes me feel like I have this pool of energy sitting inside me. Well, not sitting exactly, not really a pool, more like a river flowing through me, or a dozen rivers all criss-crossing, or, or,”  
  
I paused, tried to center myself. I couldn’t let myself fall apart just because things weren’t going according to plan. I hadn’t imagined that they would go wild with awe at my incredible powers, but I was still expecting at least a bit of respect. MM’s pity, Piggot’s well-concealed contempt, they weren’t just obstacles to me. They hurt.  
  
I took a deep breath. If they weren’t impressed yet, I’d just have to try harder.  
  
“When I train,” I continued, ”I can feel the essence -that’s what I’ve taken to calling it- sinking into my muscles and bones, making me tougher, stronger, faster. When I’m injured, I feel the essence gather around my wounds, pulling my flesh back together, never leaving a scar. When I use my striker power, I activate it by willing more of the energy into my hands, letting it reinforce them.”  
  
I clenched my fist, and channeled essence into it until it began to glow from within. I saw the Piggot begin to flinch at the sight before she forced her features into a frown instead. Not ideal, but at least it was better than contempt. Letting the power fade, I kept speaking.  
  
“My essence feels like it somehow wants to be used, like I need to find more and more ways to let it out. After a while, I decided to see what would happen if, instead of just concentrating my essence, I tried to build it up and release it explosively. That’s how I discovered the ‘kinetic push’ ability I mentioned earlier. It was unreliable at first, but the more I used it, the easier it became. Now, that technique is just as natural as my original striker power.”  
  
“That’s very impressive, Daystar,” said Miss Militia, “but you shouldn’t get your hopes up about being the next Dauntless. It’s very common for newly triggered parahumans to find more uses for their power as they experiment. That’s actually a big part of what the Wards program is here for.” She sounded like she was trying to let me down nicely.  
  
I suppressed a growl of frustration. “I understand that, Miss Millitia, but my power feels different. When I concentrate on it, I get a sense of what seems like dozens of potential uses for my power, maybe hundreds. Most of them are faint, but I’m fairly certain I can use my energy to temporarily increase my strength by a huge amount, or strike incorporeal targets, or even heal people, and that would just be the beginning!”  
  
“A healing power would be incredibly useful,” Piggot said, as if she was reluctantly conceding a point, “but I can’t afford to put much stock in potential new powers. If you think you’re capable of these feats, why haven’t you already tested them?”  
  
“That’s actually why I’m here, Ma’am,” I replied. “It’s not just a matter of trying to use my power in new ways. I’m pretty sure that, in order to grow, I need to train not just my power, but all the rest of me as well.”  
  
I had Armsmaster’s full attention now, possibly for the first time in this meeting. “I didn’t figure out how to improve my striker power until I started taking self defense classes. Even after I noticed that my power was improving my physical condition, it wasn’t magically making me stronger like most brute powers do; it was only enhancing all the exercise I was already engaging in. Sometimes it feels like all my other powers are actually just extensions of my Thinker ability, as if it's letting me improve my various skills and abilities so far beyond normal human limits that they just turn into powers somehow.”  
  
“So in order to develop a healing power,” Miss Millitia asked, “you would have to, what, study medicine? Learn first aid?”  
  
“Probably both,” I answered, “but possibly something different, like massage or, I don’t know, aromatherapy? I didn’t seem to get a clear idea of my push power until I was close to a breakthrough, and even then I didn’t completely understand how it would work.”  
  
“I understand,” Armsmaster said, suddenly focusing on me with new intensity. “You’re like a Tinker.”  
  
“Uh, I don’t know about that,” I said, trying hard not to instinctively avert my gaze from his featureless visor. “I don’t think I’ve felt any Tinker powers I could potentially develop. My powers so far have been pretty direct.”  
  
“From the sounds of it, you wouldn’t really know for sure until you started studying normal technology,” Armsmaster retorted, “but that wasn’t my point. You’re not one of those capes whose power does everything for them. Your power gives you ideas, but you still need to figure out how to implement them. You have to practice, train, experiment, and even rely on outside resources to fully develop your abilities, and then you have to train even more in how to actually use them effectively. It’s more demanding, having to actually work for your powers, but the tradeoff is theoretically unlimited potential.”  
  
By the end of his speech, Armsmaster sounded almost excited. Almost. It looked like I’d managed to win him over. Unfortunately, his wasn’t the only opinion that mattered.  
  
“And you’re hoping the Wards will give you that training.” Piggot’s voice was even, but something in her eyes was making me nervous. She didn’t trust me, which was a huge problem because I couldn’t accomplish the next steps of my plan if I had the director peering over my shoulder all the time. Despite my social insight power, it still felt like I was struggling in the dark with her. She reminded me of Principal Blackwell, asking questions, pretending like she was being fair, even though she’d already decided not to help. Something about Piggot’s gaze gave me that same feeling, that I’d lost the battle before even showing up.  
  
My heart started beating faster. I needed to get this meeting back under control.  
  
I tried focusing it on her again, letting the essence reignite in my mind. _I can’t be too perfect. I need to oppose her on something, but then let her win._ Hunh. Apparently my power could give me an incomplete picture if I didn’t press hard enough. That was something to worry about later, though. I had to change gears, and fast, without looking like that was what I was doing. I needed a way to make Piggot put her foot down without coming across as a complete asshole, something stupid and petty that I could later play off as an innocent mistake.  
  
When I put it that way, the solution was obvious: What Would Emma Do?  
  
“That’s correct, ma’am,” I said, adopting a faint smile. Emma would take Piggot’s question as a sign that she was interested in having me on the team, and relish in the power that would give her over the Director. That was the ‘petty’ part covered. Now for the stupid.  
  
“That’s why,” I continued, “I have an extensive list of demands I’m going to need you to fulfill before I can join the Wards, including the authority to set my own training schedule and a starting salary at least five times the customary amount.” Judging by the way that everyone’s eyebrows had suddenly rocketed towards the ceiling, it was safe to say I hit my mark. Personally, I thought that demanding a massively multiplied salary without even knowing the baseline value was a stroke of jerkish genius.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” Piggot looked taken aback, but not surprised. Armsmaster frowned at me, while Miss Militia actually winced at my demands. I’d have to win back some of the respect I’d just earned from them, then. Unfortunate, but they’d already shown they were more willing to meet me halfway than Piggot was.  
  
“That’s part of the purpose of these meetings, isn’t it? Negotiating contracts?”  
  
Piggot scowled at me. “Miss Daystar, despite what television may have lead you to believe, a career in the Protectorate isn’t anything like being some kind of sports star. The PRT does not negotiate salary with potential Wards, and even if we did, ‘Negotiation’ does not mean that you can walk into my house and begin dictating terms. The actual purpose of this meeting is to answer questions and assess your potential needs within the Wards program.”  
  
She sounded serious, even a bit angry, but now that the other shoe had dropped, she was probably feeling more in her element. I just needed to show a bit more resistance to sell the act, and then I could gracefully concede the point and apologize. Ideally, I could get her to see me as someone who overreached out of fear of being given a rotten deal.  
  
“It’s not just about what I need,” I said, putting a little less confidence into my voice, “but what I deserve. Being able to improve my power means that I’ll eventually become one of the most powerful capes out there, maybe even approaching Triumvirate level. I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I be paid appropriately, especially since I plan on investing much of that money in my own training. The cost now might be high, but you’ll get much more back with the respect you earn from being the one to train and recruit-”  
  
“Daystar.” Piggot didn’t shout, but there was steel in her voice. “You don’t seem to understand how things work around here. As I said earlier, I don’t put any stock in the powers you think you might develop someday. You will be treated as appropriate for the parahuman you are now, and right now, you’re no different than any other newly triggered cape. Do you understand?”  
  
I glared at her, and I didn’t have to fake it. Why the hell did she keep insisting I was lying about my powers? Was it so damn hard to believe that I might actually be capable of something impressive?  
  
I took a few seconds to calm my nerves, then spoke. “With all due respect, ma’am, you’re not a parahuman. You don’t understand what it’s like to just instinctively know that-”  
  
“That’s enough!” Piggot’s glare felt like it might melt me on the spot. “You think I haven’t seen dozens of new capes come into my building, thinking that just because they could fly or control fire, they got to decide how things were going to work from now on?” Her voice went cold. “I’ll tell you what I told each of them. Powers do not make you special. They don’t make you worthy. They just make you more dangerous. You want to be a hero? Heroes put their lives on the line to protect people. Those capes who only care about what’s in it for them? We call them Villains.”  
  
I held her gaze, fists clenched under the table. I could vaguely recall something about a plan to persuade her, but it didn’t seem all that important right now. Piggot was talking down to me like a spoiled child, trying to convince me I wasn’t worth anything, and I’d sworn to myself that I’d never let people treat me like that ever again.  
  
I took a few deep breaths, tried to focus, but I could barely think over the pounding of my heartbeat. I didn’t have to explode here. I’d practiced what to do things went bad, if the Protectorate ended up being just another bunch of useless adults, willing to let me suffer so they didn’t have to make an effort. I could apologize, ask for a moment to collect myself, swallow my pride and tell myself that my end goal was worth it. That would be the smart thing to do, but my essence was burning white-hot inside me and right then I felt like I’d rather cut off my own arm than let this absolute bitch boss me around.  
  
“Maybe the Villains would at least recognize that I’m worth something!” I snarled, conscious of just how quiet the room had become. “You treat me like trash now, but maybe you’ll all change you tune when you have to fight against me!”  
  
As soon as I said it, I wished I could take the words back. The room was deadly silent; Militia and Armsmaster looked like they were sizing me up, ready for me to attack at any moment. They saw me as a threat. I tried to force my Insight to look deeper, to tell me what I could to to somehow unpoison this well, but my vision couldn’t seem to focus. I took a breath, ready to say whatever I could…  
  
I couldn’t make a sound. The words all stuck in my throat, choking me, cutting off my air. I was passing out. I was dying. Piggot, Miss Militia, Armsmaster, all of them seemed to just fall away from me, retreating into the far distance. I fell away from me.  
  
Someone started crying.  
  
For a long time, the sobbing was the only sound in the room. Then, the scraping of a chair across the floor, and a moment later the sensation of two strong arms wrapping someone in a tight hug. The sobbing gradually began to slow, until it eventually gave way to shallow, sniffling breaths. Off in a corner, Armsmaster muttered something about Striker protocols.  
  
“I’m sorry,” a voice said, in between sniffles, “I think I really fucked this up.”  
  
The world swam a little closer. I relaxed my grip on Miss Militia, and she withdrew just enough to full stand up, keeping one of her hands on my shoulder. I searched her eyes for some sign of anger or disappointment, but I only found sympathy. Somehow, that actually felt worse, and I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.  
  
“Daystar,” she said, voice quiet, “you said that it’s been months since your trigger?”  
  
“January 1st,” I said. I couldn’t see how it mattered.  
  
“And you’ve been homeless ever since,” she continued. “Who was taking care of you before that?”  
  
“My dad,” I said, staring at the table. I couldn’t meet her eyes. “We lost my mom about two years ago.” In the table’s reflection, I saw Armsmaster nod faintly, like something finally made sense to him.  
  
“So your trigger,” Militia said, “that was when…” She trailed off. I could only dip my head in reply.  
  
“What happened then? Did you seek out any of your friends for help?”  
  
“No friends,” I said. Suddenly I felt far too tired to think of hiding anything. Easier to just let the words spill out on autopilot. “My best friend started tormenting me over a year ago. She and the other bullies made sure nobody else at Winslow wanted to be nice to me.”  
  
Miss Militia gave a faint hiss of indrawn breath.  
  
“I don’t want to be a villain,” someone said, from far away. “I just, I can’t go back to being worthless. I was, I am, scared, scared that the wards would be just like the bullies at school. Just because I have powers doesn’t mean I can’t be the weak one, the pathetic one, the one nobody cares about.”  
  
It sounded like my voice, but it couldn’t be. I didn’t think this way. I didn’t feel this way. I didn’t feel anything.  
  
“I thought,” the voice continued, “that if I could just show what a powerful Cape I could be, that things could be different. If I was the next Dauntless, or the next Armsmaster, there’s no way the others could get away with bullying me. All I had to do was convince you that I was strong enough to be important. So much for that plan.”  
  
The plan. That was supposed to be important, wasn’t it?  
  
I finally managed to look up, only to see Armsmaster staring directly at me. Even behind his opaque visor, I could tell his eyes were fixed to mine.  
  
“Daystar,” I was shocked by the quiet fury in his voice, “I promise you, no matter how strong or weak your powers, I will never allow one of my Wards to be treated that way. Not by the other Wards, not by the PRT, not even by the Triumvirate themselves.”  
  
“I’m sorry!” The voice, my voice, came out as little more than a squeak. “I didn’t mean that I thought you would-”  
  
“No,” he said, suddenly sounding almost...embarrassed? “No, I’m sorry. You should never have been let down like this in the first place. Every parahuman gets their powers by surviving the worst day in their life. None of us walk away without trauma. From what you’ve said, I’m not sure that your worst day ever really ended. I’ve been spending most of this meeting thinking of how to make use of you, but I should have been focusing on how I could help you.”  
  
It took everything I had not to break down in tears again. I couldn’t speak, so I bowed my head deeply instead, hoping I could convey how grateful I was.  
  
Piggot was the next one to speak up.  
  
“I think all of us here are prepared to write off your little outburst as the understandable result of trauma, so long as I you keep in mind that such displays of disrespect will be absolutely unacceptable in the future.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, though it hardly sounded louder than a whisper. We sat in silence for several more minutes as I collected myself, until I started to feel like I belonged in my own body again. I hadn’t fallen apart like that since the alley; I didn’t think I could, any more.  
  
Once I finally felt at least a little bit like myself (miserable as usual, a tiny treacherous voice seemed to say), I gave Piggot a nod to say I was ready to keep going.  
  
“Now,” she continued, “should you decide to join the Wards, an option that you still have every right to decline, you will receive the normal salary for a starting Ward, the same salary that absolutely everyone begins with.”  
  
She fixed me with a level glare. “Contrary to whatever rumors you may have heard, the PRT, and I in particular, are not in the habit of granting heroes extra perks just because they happen to have lucked into a strong power. Your pay will reflect the length and quality of your service, nothing more, nothing less. Is that understood?”  
  
“Yes ma’am.”  
  
“Good. That said, one of Armsmaster’s earlier comments has given me an idea. If power testing can confirm what you’ve said about developing new powers, I can alot you a dedicated training budget, in much the same way that our Tinkers receive funding for their tools and supplies. Like a Tinker, everything you wish to purchase with your allotment will first go through my office for approval, and I reserve the right to penalize these discretionary funds as a punishment should I deem it necessary.”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” I said, too numb to argue even if I wanted to. “That’s more than generous.” Behind Piggot, Armsmaster gave an approving nod.  
  
“You may find this hard to believe right now, Daystar,” Piggot said, “but we are both on the same side in this. Both you and I want you to be the strongest, most well-trained hero possible. The difference between us is that you’re not the only hero I’m responsible for. It’s my job to see the big picture, so you’re going to have to learn to trust me to choose what’s best for you, even if you might not see it that way. Is that something you can accept?”  
  
Her tone was still serious, but she didn’t sound unkind. The rest of the conversation suddenly made more sense to me. Piggot would probably never fully trust me, or any of the other wards either, for that matter, but it seemed that she was willing to work with me. It was probably the best I was going to get. In a way, it made things easier; if I ever felt bad about betraying her trust, the memory of the sheer contempt in her eyes would keep me going.  
  
“I can try, ma’am,” I said, getting the vague impression that I should be saluting her right now. “I’m both a cape and a teenager, two groups not exactly known for being level-headed. I know I’m not always going to make the right decisions, but I promise I’ll do my best to learn from my mistakes.”  
  
For the first time in the meeting, Piggot’s lips actually curled up in a smile. It was faint, and maybe a little sarcastic, but it was there.  
  
“I suppose that’s the best we can ask for,” she said. “Now, I have all the paperwork here we’ll need to begin your admissions process. Personally, I’d prefer to get it all over with right now, especially since the entire Wards team will be on-site for you to meet, but we can schedule a meeting for another day if you need some time to think things over.”  
  
“No,” I said, inclining my head towards the papers in her outstretched hands, “I’ve already made my decision. I made it before I even arrived here.”  
  
I reached up to remove my mask. “My real name is-”  
  
“Taylor Anne Hebert,” Armsmaster interrupted, with all the emotional inflection of a man reading out of the phonebook. My words died in my mouth, and Miss Militia turned around to scowl at him. Even Piggot rolled her eyes. After several excruciating seconds, he shrugged.  
  
“You gave more than enough information to figure it out; I just needed to look up the relevant police records. You really shouldn’t be surprised.”  
  
I blinked at him for a few seconds, then turned my focus back to Piggot. The heck with it. “Taylor Hebert,” I finished, “pleasure to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I ever decide to do major rewrites, this chapter is near the top of the list. The whole interview feels a bit stilted, especially considering Taylor's upcoming character development, but it still gets the job done.


	4. Rising 1.2

I stood next to Miss Militia in not-quite-comfortable silence while our elevator carried us down towards the Wards HQ. She’d suggested that meeting the team might be a nice change of pace after almost three hours filling out paperwork. Apparently, things didn’t usually take nearly this long; the delay was thanks to all the extra complications added by my uncertain legal status as an orphan. Honestly, though, I was just happy to have a chance to recover from my breakdown, even if I still felt more than a little emotionally numb. Speaking of which...  
  
“Miss Militia,” I said, without actually looking at her, “Before we meet up with the Wards, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you, uh...” Giving me a hug? Bringing me out of a panic attack? Being the only one in the room to see me as a person first, cape second? Not shooting me with seventeen different guns just in case?”  
  
“...helping me out,” I finished, almost whispering.  
  
“You looked like you needed it,” she said. I still wasn’t looking at her, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “Besides, you’re not the first Ward to need that kind of support at the entrance interview. I’ve seen grizzled veterans a decade older than me break down the same way.”  
  
“Really?” I said, glancing to my side to search her face for signs of deception. “Like who?”  
  
“Me, for one,” she said. “I grew up in a pretty horrible situation. First few months after joining the Wards, I would just break into tears at a moment’s notice, seemingly without any reason. Making progress in therapy helped me figure out why it was happening, but actually moving past it took years more, and I still see a therapist at least once a month to make sure I stay on top of things.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said, still quiet.  
  
“Most people don’t,” she replied, “and that’s my point. I’m not going to bring up anyone else as an example, because they deserve their privacy the same way you do, but they’re out there. None of us would even have powers in the first place if we hadn’t gone through something horrible; emotional baggage is something we all have in common. Nobody’s going to think less of you for what you’ve gone through, and a lot of them will try to help, if you give them the chance.”  
  
I nodded and gave Miss Militia a faint smile, even though I couldn’t bring myself to believe everything she was saying. I didn’t doubt her story, but there was no way that everyone in the Protectorate was as accepting as her. I’d learned the hard way that the people who want to see the good in everyone are usually all-too-willing to turn a blind eye on the bad.  
  
So, as nice as her take on the issue sounded, I’d have to make a better impression on the Wards. It didn’t matter much if my bosses saw me as a wounded, traumatized teenager (not inaccurately, some treacherous part of my mind added), but it would kill my chances with my peers. Letting them see my trauma would probably earn their sympathy, but what I really needed for my plan to succeed was their respect.  
  
A few floors before the elevator reached the subterranean level of the Wards HQ, I shrugged out of my hoodie and tied it around my waist like a sash. I had chosen the plain tank top I wore underneath because it neither emphasized nor concealed my figure, and did a great job of showing off the new definition in my arms and shoulders. I still wasn’t used to thinking of myself as actually having a figure, let alone anything worth showing off. As long as I didn’t care about my looks, it didn’t matter if anyone insulted them; actually trying to look good opened up the possibility that I would fail. Apathy was far more comfortable, but I needed the Wards to like me, and so I’d take any advantage I could get.  
  
Once the elevator reached floor B3, it opened up into a sort of antechamber to the HQ itself. The walls on either side were covered in tall, glossy posters like you’d see in a movie theatre, each one showing an image of one of the Wards, alongside their name and logo. The one closest to my left was labelled “VISTA,” her name stretched and distorted underneath the image of the Ward herself as if she was warping it with her powers. To my right, I saw “GALLANT” written out in the style of an illuminated medieval manuscript, below an image of the armored hero with his hand pressed over his heart. The whole show was probably great for guided tours, but I had to wonder what it was like for the Wards themselves to walk past their larger-than-life images every day.  
  
While I took in the sights, Miss Militia had reached the far end of the miniature lobby and swiped a keycard past the security scanner by the main door. She didn’t look surprised when a loud buzzing sound rang out from the other side of the metal door.  
  
“The door’s on a time delay,” she said, “to give the Wards time to at least mask up if they’re not in costume. You don’t have to unmask to them yet if you don’t feel comfortable, but don’t be surprised if they open up to you quickly. They’re good kids that way.”  
  
I nodded, not knowing what else to say to that, especially since I didn’t plan to take her at her word regarding who I should or shouldn’t trust. Moments later, the door hissed open, and we stepped inside.  
  
I did my best not to stare. Despite being filled with masked teenagers, the Wards HQ looked less like a secret cape base and more like a roomy studio apartment. At a glance, I could recognize a living-room-like area complete with couches and a television, a small but fully equipped kitchen unit, and what looked like a small exercise corner with a handful of free weights and a few yoga mats.  
  
As for the Wards themselves, well…  
  
“Let me guess,” Miss Militia said, “someone tipped you all off that you might be getting a new teammate today.”  
  
The only Ward I recognized offhand was Vista, because she was the only one wearing her costume. The rest, a quartet of teenage boys, were dressed in casual clothing and wearing generic domino masks like mine. They'd spread out throughout the living room area, doing their best to look casual even though they had obviously arranged themselves to have a clear view of the door.  
  
“What? No,” Vista said, cool as a cucumber. “We were just playing video games.” She gestured with the controller in her hand as if holding it up as evidence.  
  
“With the TV off?” I asked, features carefully neutral. Vista just coughed.  
  
Vista was the youngest of the Brockton Bay Wards, but she’d also been in the program the longest. Her power allowed her to warp space in various ways, like changing the distance between two points or twisting her opponents’ attacks back on themselves. Her PR material focused on how cute and eager she was, but I suspected she was likely the most powerful cape on the whole team. I activated my social insight technique, and it told me more or less what I expected: _Treat her with respect, show that I pay more attention to her experience than her age._  
  
“I can’t speak for Vista,” said a thin, red-haired boy from the far side of the room, “but I’ve been catching up on my homework. Innocently.” He nodded down in demonstration towards his book, a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein that he was very clearly holding upside-down. I cracked a faint grin. My social intuition from him was rather simple: _Play along with his jokes, but don’t write him off as the class clown. The more open I can be with him, the better._  
  
“I’m Clockblocker, by the way,” he said, “the most responsible of the Wards and probably your future role model. Stick with me and you’ll be a model superhero in no time.”  
  
Clockblocker could lock things into a timeless stasis just by touching them. He had a reputation as a bit of a joke cape, but his power, together with Vista's, would be essential for locking Lung down and denying him time to ramp up.  
  
“That’s right,” Vista replied. “If you pay close attention to Clockblocker, you’ll always know what not to do.” The glare she gave him seemed more theatrical than serious. Out of the corner of my sight, Miss Militia shook her head and gave a long-suffering sigh, but I could see mirth in her eyes.  
  
The teenager next to Vista took the chance to stand up and offer his hand towards me. He was probably quite handsome, with bright eyes and a nearly flawless smile, and he seemed to radiate a genuine warmth and sense of welcome. _Treat others with compassion , _my insight power suggested, _avoid deception, and let him solve some of my problems for me._  
  
“Gallant?” I guessed, and saw his grin get just a little wider as I took his hand. His grip was the perfect mix of firm and soft, and I wondered if he practiced to get it that way.  
  
“That’s right,” he said, “and I’m sorry if we’re putting you on the spot here. It’s not every day we get to meet a potential new teammate, let alone one we’ve heard almost nothing about.”  
  
I hadn’t been able to find much information online about Gallant’s powers. He was obviously a tinker of some kind, considering the high-tech armor he wore everywhere, but beyond that details were sparse. I had to assume that his powers wouldn’t be much use against Lung, but the media liked to portray him as the ‘heart’ of the team. If that was true, getting him on my side could really help me convince the others.  
  
“That’s kinda my fault,” I replied. “I haven’t done anything really cape-y since getting my powers, and it’s not like I phoned ahead to say I was coming in.”  
  
Gallant chuckled, and stepped aside to let the last of the Wards approach. He was taller than me by an inch or two and powerfully built for a teen, somehow he didn’t come across as intimidating. _Make sure to get along with the other Wards. Don’t put myself in needless danger. Follow his lead, but don't be afraid to respectfully disagree._  
  
“Aegis,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. His grip was surprisingly light, like he was afraid of hurting me by squeezing. “I’m team leader for the Wards, so it’s going to be my job to get you settled in here. We’re going to save the full tour for later, but I wanted to let you know that if you have trouble with anything -personal, professional, whatever- you can bring it to me and I’ll help however I can.”  
  
“That sounds great,” I replied, holding myself back from giving ‘sounds’ the emphasis it deserved. Still, the smile I gave in return was only slightly fake. Despite my reservations, the Wards really did seem like good people, and I could even start to imagine being friends with them. “I look forward to getting to know everyone better.”  
  
PHO called Aegis’s power ‘adaptive biology.’ Whenever he suffered an injury, his body would alter itself to compensate. Poke out his eyes and he’d grow photoreceptors on his forehead, cut his throat and he’d start breathing through his bellybutton or something. Beyond that, he could fly, and he a degree of enhanced strength. As team leader, he was my biggest rival for the Wards’ loyalty; he could be a major problem if I didn’t manage to win him over to my side.  
  
I swept my gaze across the room again, making eye contact with each of the Wards in turn. Brocton Bay had six Wards in total (seven, now), which meant that only one was missing, and since I didn’t see any other girls that meant the absent Ward had to be Shadow Stalker. That was unfortunate, since she was the Ward I was most interested in meeting.  
  
“Speaking of getting to know each other,” I glanced at Miss Militia, who nodded at me to continue, “I don’t know how much has reached you through the grapevine, but I’m going to be living here in the HQ full time, for at least a few weeks. Having to hide my face the whole time just sounds awkward, so if it’s okay, I’d like to unmask to you all right up front.”  
  
“Of course,” Aegis said, as the rest of the Wards either nodded or grinned in return. “We’re honored that you’re willing to show us that much trust this soon.”  
  
I felt like ‘honored’ might have been laying it on a bit thick, but it was a good opening. I reached up to take off my mask, brushing some hair back over my ear as I did so, and concentrated as hard as I could on not blushing or freezing up.  
  
“Hi again,” I said. “My name is-”  
  
“Taylor FUCKING Hebert!?” a familiar voice yelled out from one of the side rooms. Very familiar. My breath caught in my chest, and my smile froze on my face. I turned to look at the newcomer. With only a standard-issue generic mask to conceal her identity, there was no way I could mistake her for anyone else.  
  
“Sophia Hess,” I said, ignoring her tone. “Never thought I’d run into you like this.” I hadn’t planned for this. How could I have planned for this? I’d imagined that some of them might act like my bullies, but I never imagined that one of my bullies might actually be on the team! My worst case scenarios clearly hadn’t been imaginative enough, and I actually had a plan for what to do if the fucking Endbringers attacked during the meetup. Sophia! Fucking! Hess!  
  
“You know each other?” Aegis asked, his smile clearly strained. Behind him, Clockblocker rolled his eyes, Gallant winced, and Vista started glaring daggers at Sophia.  
  
“From school,” I said, not breaking eye contact with Sophia. Shadow Stalker, by process of elimination. Sophia Hess wasn’t just a cape, she was a Ward! A hero! Shadow Stalker was the one Ward I already felt genuine respect for, the only one I thought might understand me! A sudden manic thought struck me, and a slight giggle broke through my calm: she really would understand what I’d gone through, because she was one of the bitches causing it!  
  
If I wasn’t still so emotionally drained from my earlier breakdown I might have just walked across the room and punched her right in her fucking face. Even if it would torpedo my chances with the Wards, even if I’d end up covered head to toe in containment foam, I was still tempted to just go up to her and kick her fucking ass into next week. Instead, I forced myself to focus on her expression, letting my social insight ability get a solid read on just what kind of behaviour Sophia the Sociopath responded positively to.  
  
 _Punch her right in her fucking face! Kick her fucking-_  
  
I throttled back on that ability, hard. This wasn’t going to help. Not even Piggot had given me such a blatantly false reading. I couldn’t afford to go to pieces now, not without blowing the entire plan. I had to look at Sophia not as a threat, but as a problem to solve. Taylor Hebert might not be able to stand up to her old bully, but Daystar could sure as hell solve problems.  
  
Sophia’s face went from shocked to wary. “Thought you were dead, Hebert,” she said. She was trying to sound casual, but anyone with ears could recognize the menace in her tone. The blink-and-you’d-miss-it glare she gave me only made the threat clearer. She wanted to remind me of her power over me, wanted me to feel like I was back in Winslow, weak and useless.  
  
If she was trying to intimidate me like this right in front of Miss Militia, it suggested that she was just as close to losing her temper as I was. I got the impression that, for some reason, she felt threatened by my presence from the moment she saw me, which suggested that _the rest of them didn’t know._ It made sense, especially if Armsmaster had meant any of his little speech from earlier.  
  
I relaxed slightly, and my smile turned a little less fake. Sophia was trying to intimidate me into keeping my mouth shut about her bullying, which meant that I should tell everyone as soon as possible. Judging by how poorly Piggot had reacted to my outburst earlier, she’d probably flip her lid at hearing all the shit Sophia got up to. With any luck, I could get the bitch kicked off the team entirely. Except…  
  
Well, that would mean telling all the Wards about how she’d beaten and humiliated me, how I spent almost two years as her helpless chew toy. Another opportunity to gain sympathy at the cost of respect. On top of that, Shadow Stalker was still one of my best bets for taking down Lung, the only one of the Wards who was likely to actually want to fight the dragon without needing to be persuaded.  
  
That decided things. I wasn’t happy about it, oh god was I not happy about it, but I could put up with a de-fanged Sophia for the sake of getting Shadow Stalker on my side. Still, just because I wasn’t going to get her punished didn’t mean I had to let her walk all over me.  
  
“Not dead, just trying to get my life together,” I said, grinning like I wasn’t at all afraid of her. Surprisingly, I really wasn’t. I’d been through worse in the last couple months than anything she’d ever done to me, and I’d gotten stronger from it. Part of me actually hope she tried to attack me, so that she could feel what it was like to be the weak one.  
  
“It’s great to see you again,” I continued. It was even technically true, since this was starting to feel pretty fun. “I know things can’t ever go back to the way they were between us, but I’m looking forward to working with you from now on.” If anyone else noticed the subtle emphasis I put on ‘with,’ they didn’t give any sign.  
  
Sophia’s face flickered between shock and anger before settling back on wary. “Yeah, well, whatever. Just try not to slow me down.” With that, she pivoted sharply and went back towards wherever she’d come from.  
  
I turned back to face the rest of the Wards. Most of them looked relieved that disaster had been averted. I still didn’t trust them, but their obvious unease with Sophia was a good sign.  
  
“Sorry about that,” I said with a shrug. “Sophia and I have a bit of...history.”  
  
“Bad breakup?” Clockblocker asked with a shit-eating grin. Aegis frowned, and Vista reached out as if to slap him upside the head, but she paused when I just chuckled.  
  
“No, we just clashed a bit over a mutual friend. We never dated, but I might have said yes if she’d ever actually asked me out.” I met Clockblocker’s eyes and gave him a quick wink. “We’d have made terrible girlfriends, but it could have been a fun kind of terrible, you know?”  
  
It was the biggest lie I’d told all day, but I still couldn’t stop the blush I felt creeping into my cheeks. It didn’t help that Sophia really was pretty damn hot, even if I’d rather dive into a swimming pool full of spiders than date someone as vicious and cruel as her.  
  
Vista gave a brief snort of laughter, while Clockblocker turned beet red. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he stammered out, “I didn’t mean to-”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” I chuckled. “Don’t make the same joke with Sophia, though, or she’ll kick your ass.”  
  
“And don’t I know it,” Clockblocker replied with a rueful smile.  
  
“It’ll be great to have another rainbow cape on the team,” Aegis said. “I can tell you that the Wards have been great to me so far. If you like, I’ve got a few pamphlets in my office I can give you.”  
  
“What, like, seven habits of highly queer superheroes, or coming out of the cape closet?” I asked. “A pocket guide on not incinerating homophobes with your laser eyes?”  
  
Clockblocker laughed out loud, and I heard Miss Militia barely stifle a snort. Aegis grinned and rolled his eyes.  
  
“You joke,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure that second one’s a real title. Some of them are a lot better than they sound, though.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Also; rainbow cape? Is that a term anyone else actually uses?”  
  
“It will be,” he said, “one day, once everyone else finally acknowledges my genius. In the meantime, though, welcome to the team, Taylor.”  
  
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s good to know I’ve got some backup here.”  
  
“Always,” Aegis replied, and he really did seem to mean it. “On that note, I’m thinking that now might not be a bad time for that grand tour after all?”  
  
He sounded sincere, but he still glanced back towards where Sophia had come from as he spoke. I got the message.  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, putting my mask back on. “Just so long as we start with a grand tour of wherever you keep the food. I’m starving.”  
  
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Clockblocker asked, voice dripping with melodramatic sorrow. “This place is like Sea-World for capes. The PRT only feeds us when we perform tricks for visiting tour groups.”  
  
“Fine,” I said, “then we’ll start with a tour of wherever they keep the flaming hoops and tightropes.”  
  
We continued laughing and joking with each other as they showed me around the PRT building, with the Wards doing a great job of making me feel like I belonged. It was almost enough to make me forget that it was all just a big lie. Part of me kept saying that getting friendly with them now would only make it hurt more when they inevitably discovered my ulterior motives and decided they never wanted to see me again, but I ignored it. For the first time in years, I’d gotten a taste of real friendship, and even knowing that it was temporary, I was hooked. I’d just have to enjoy it while it lasted.  
  
\---  
  
Later that night, after the other Wards helped me get set up in my new quarters, Sophia came knocking at my door. Well, not exactly knocking; it would be more honest to say that she suddenly ghosted through my door and started yelling at me as soon as she reformed.  
  
“What the hell, Hebert!?” If the rooms here weren’t so well soundproofed, I could imagine her voice carrying all the way up to the tour groups in the lobby.  
  
“What do you want, Hess?” I sighed, putting down my book. The Wards’ regulations and procedures handbook was about as dry as week-old toast, but I couldn’t afford to be uninformed.  
  
“I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing here,” she almost growled at me. “No way a pathetic piece of shit like you actually gets powers. Whatever your game is, I’m not falling for it.”  
  
I stood up from my bed to face her, and found myself looking down. The last time I’d seen Sophia in school, we had been almost the same height. Now, though, I had at least two inches on her. When the hell did that happen?  
  
“I’m not here to play games,” I said, doing my best to loom over her. “I’m here to be a hero. That’s all.”  
  
“Bullshit,” she replied, her eyes not leaving mine. “You don’t have it in you, Hebert. You’re never going to be anything other than a victim. If you don’t get the hell out of this city and forget you ever saw me, I’m going to make you wish you’d stayed dead like your daddy.”  
  
I wasn’t going to get a cue like that more than once in a lifetime. I struck without warning, slamming my fist into Sophia’s stomach. No power, no golden light, just good old fashioned muscle and technique. She fell backwards and sank to the floor, gasping for breath. The look of shock on her face was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.  
  
I used to imagine scenes like this, back in Winslow, but I’d always remind myself that I didn’t want to sink to the same level as my bullies. It was a noble ideal, but now that I was already planning pre-meditated murder, beating up one of the bitches who tried to ruin my life didn’t feel like such a big problem anymore.  
  
I moved to kick Sophia in the ribs while she was prone, but she rolled away from me and sprung back to her feet like a practiced fighter. She bared her teeth at me and charged. I moved to strike her again, but she turned to shadow just as my fist reached her and simply flowed over and through me. A half second later, I felt a sharp impact on the back of my skull, probably enough to really hurt most people, but nothing I couldn’t shrug off. I spun around, my arm whipping out to try and catch her with a backhand, but once again I hit only a fleeing shadow.  
  
Sophia rematerialized on my bed, before lunging through the air at me. This time, I just stepped sideways to avoid her, throwing another punch I knew wouldn’t land. She turned to shadow and flowed around my fist, but my positioning meant that her trajectory couldn’t carry her behind me. She materialized just in time to see me launch a kick at her head, causing her to dematerialize once again.  
  
I took a few steps to put the wall at my back and crossed my arms, raising one eyebrow at the mass of shadow drifting in from of me. A moment later, Sophia returned to her human form, glaring daggers at me.  
  
“This is stupid,” I said, not having to fake the weariness in my voice. “I can’t touch you and you can’t hurt me. The only way one of us gets the other is through surprise.”  
  
“You can’t keep your back to the wall forever, Hebert,” Sophia replied. “It’s only a matter of time before I put you back in your place.”  
  
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If you want to be like that, I can’t stop you. Just promise me you won’t try to pull this shit when we’re on duty.”  
  
Sophia’s frown melted into a blank stare. “What the hell are you getting at?” she asked.  
  
“Like I just said, you can’t hurt me. Literally. I’ve got a Brute rating strong enough that your elbow to my skull barely registered, and I really don’t give a damn what you say about me. I don’t know what your trigger event was like, but mine was bad enough to make everything you and Emma did to me seem insignificant. Beating the crap out of you seemed like it might be fun, but your power makes you too frustrating to use as a punching bag.”  
  
Sophia threw another punch at me, and even I had to admit that her speed was impressive. I still caught it, of course, and she ghosted back out of my grip before I could try crushing her hand. With an over-stated sigh, I sat back down on the side of my bed, and reached over to grab the Ward’s handbook.  
  
“So sure, have your fun, plot my downfall, whatever. You do you. All I care about is that some crook doesn’t get to run away free because you thought patrol would be a great time to take another shot at me. Can you at least say that being a hero is more important to you than being a bully?”  
  
“Fuck you, Hebert,” she spat at me, “You don’t get to talk to me about being a hero. While you spent the last two years whining and crying about your best friend, I’ve been fighting the scum of Brockton Bay. I’ve bled for this city. I’ve killed for it! I’m ten times the hero you’ll ever be, and if you try to get in my way, I won’t hesitate to kill you too!”  
  
I believed her, and I wished it shocked me. She saw me as a potential threat to her status as a hero, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that didn’t happen. I guess I wasn’t the only one who relied on anger for getting over my fears. Ironically, what she just said to me might be enough on its own to get her kicked out, since Piggot didn’t seem like the type to let her Wards make death threats like that. The problem was, I didn’t actually want her gone. I just had to convince her of that.  
  
“Sophia,” I said, meeting her gaze, “why the hell would I want to get in your way?”  
  
She laughed. “What, you’re just going to forget how I helped your former best friend torture you almost two years? Bullshit. The second I turned my back, you were going to go right to Piggot with your sob story about how mean Sophia was such a big bully to poor little Taylor.”  
  
“Believe it or not,” I said, “that wasn’t my plan. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t hate you, but that doesn’t mean I want you kicked off the team. Did you know that half of the reason I joined the wards was because I wanted a chance to work with Shadow Stalker?”  
  
That actually seemed to catch her off guard.  
  
“The fuck do you mean?” she said.  
  
“I mean,” I went on, “that the Wards are cool and all, but Shadow Stalker actually got shit done. She didn’t just wrap up her captures in a pretty bow and send them off to jail where they’d be out in a week; she put them in the damn hospital. She felt like the only hero in the city who wasn’t treating it like a game.”  
  
I couldn’t read Sophia’s expression, maybe because I wasn’t used to seeing emotions there other than anger and contempt.  
  
“When I found out who you were,” I continued, “I wasn’t just angry, I was disappointed. It was hard to imagine that Shadow Stalker could be someone as small and petty as a schoolyard bully. So, sure, I thought about tattling on you to Piggot, but in the end I decided that I respected Shadow Stalker too much to throw her under the bus just because Sophia Hess is a huge fucking bitch.”  
  
The worst thing about all this was that I wasn’t lying. Exaggerating some parts, maybe, but not actually saying anything I didn’t really believe. Some part of me still wanted more than anything to smash her face in, teach her how it felt to be the weak one for once, but that part wasn’t in control. I had a dragon to kill and a city to save, and compared to that, Sophia didn’t matter.  
  
Besides, the real best revenge against her would be to become a better hero than she could ever be!  
  
Yeah, no, that last part was definitely a lie. The real best revenge would be to leave her feeling just as powerless and broken as she’d left me. It was a good thing I wasn’t still trying to be the better person, because that idea felt way too appealing. Ah well, no reason I couldn’t just beat her half-to-death after we took down Lung, right?  
  
Sophia kept looking at me for several seconds more, like she was waiting for me to shout ‘gotcha!’ or something. When that didn’t happen, she turned to leave.  
  
“You’re fucking weird, Hebert,” she muttered, before ghosting out the door.  
  
I sighed, shook my head, and went back to reading my book. “First smart thing you’ve said all day,” I muttered to myself.


	5. Rising 1.3

**March 4, 2011**  
  
I paced back and forth through one of the PRT Building’s many training rooms, waiting for my new combat instructor to arrive. I didn’t really know what to expect, especially since Miss Militia hadn’t been able to give me many details beyond the date, time, and room number. With a title like “Basic Self Defense,” I didn’t expect this particular class to be all that exciting, but after almost a week without any action I was eager for whatever kind of fight I could get.  
  
I could at least take comfort in the fact that the PRT took this sort of thing seriously, judging by how much work they put into their training rooms. The floor was made out of some kind of slightly springy material, probably meant to let people fall on its safely, and the walls were all discreetly padded. Near the door, a number of hooks and stands held up a huge variety of training weapons, from padded swords and clubs to replica pistols. It had taken a lot of discipline not to grab one of them at random and start playi-, that is to say, practicing, with it. Miss Militia had been clear that I wasn’t to touch anything until my instructor arrived, though, hence my wearing a groove in the floor to burn off nervous energy. .  
  
I almost jumped out of my skin when the door suddenly flew open and a tall, athletic looking man swept into the room. He was wearing expensive-looking workout clothes, the sleek, futuristic kind that cost hundreds of dollars and make you look like some kind of mech pilot or cyberpunk hacker. His whole outfit was colored a familiar shade of blue, but it was the way he went straight to doing his warm-up without introducing himself that really clued me in.  
  
“Armsmaster?” I asked.  
  
“It’s Colin out of costume, Taylor,” he said, in between a series of stretches. “I see that you already went through your warmup routine while waiting?”  
  
I hadn’t even thought about that.  
  
“I don’t really need to stretch to feel limber and flexible,” I said. “My powers seem to take care of that for me.” It was a good cover story, and it had the benefit of being true.  
  
“Convenient,” he said, before moving to a different position, “but you should consider getting into the habit anyway. Even if it isn’t strictly necessary, you may find it helps further develop your powers.”  
  
I opened my mouth to make a crack about super-calisthenics, but he spoke up again just before I could get a sound out. “I’ll teach you my own routine later; it’s precisely optimized to promote flexibility and prevent strain injuries. For today, just try something basic.”  
  
I shrugged. He had a point. I didn’t actually know much about how real athletes trained, so I just went with my old standby of jumping jacks: fun, silly, and a lot less uncomfortable now that the PRT had provided me with some well-fitted sports bras. They’d given me a whole gym outfit, in fact, even though I hadn’t asked for one. I’d honestly been fine with sweatpants and old t-shirts, but I wasn’t going to complain about the more professional-looking kit, especially not now that I was training with my boss.  
  
“So,” I said, after a few more minutes, “I don’t want to sound rude, but I was expecting an ordinary PRT instructor, not the head of the regional Protectorate. Do you train all the Wards personally?”  
  
“No,” he said, seemingly finished with his warm up, “but I volunteered to take over your combat training myself.”  
  
I stopped my own exercises and gave him a crisp, professional nod. Armsmaster was taking a personal interest in me? That had to be a good sign. In the days since I signed up, I’d barely ever seen him outside of power testing, always in a hurry to get somewhere else. From what I had heard, the only thing he hated more than awkward social situations was wasting time, and smalltalk was an example of both. The fact that he was setting aside time for me specifically, time away from his tinkering, could only mean good things.  
  
“Director Piggot agreed to have the money that would normally have been spent towards your combat instruction added to my tinkering budget each month so long as the arrangement continues. It’s a small sum, but not insignificant.”  
  
“Oh. That makes sense,” I said, sighing. It really did. Fortunately, I didn’t have to like the man to learn from him. I just had to keep my anger on a tight leash.  
  
Armsmaster (no, had to remember to think of him as Colin here), walked over to the weapon rack and grabbed a pair of staves, casually tossing one to me. “I also admit to some curiosity regarding your main Thinker ability,” he continued. “Specifically, I want to see if you can really pick up combat skills as fast as you claim. The sooner you learn to be a capable fighter, the sooner I can stop wasting my time here.”  
  
The leash snapped.  
  
“Excuse me?” I blurted out. “No, no, not okay. If that’s what you think, you should give your tinkering money back to Piggot. I’m not training under someone who thinks of me as a waste of their time.”  
  
I forced myself to stop speaking, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. I wasn’t going to put up with this shit ever again, not if I could help it. If this was Armsmaster’s idea of a sadistic drill sergeant routine, he was way too deadpan to pull it off.  
  
“You misunderstand,” he said, seemingly unbothered by my outburst. “My schedule as Protectorate ENE leader affords me very little free time. In order to serve as your instructor, I gave up time I would normally spend on my own personal training. My hope is that your power will help you reach a level of skill where we can both learn something from these sessions. Compared to what we could accomplish together on a more even footing, this early training is a much less efficient use of time for both of us. Rest assured, though, that I will continue to act as your instructor regardless of your performance. I apologize if any of this was unclear.”  
  
It took a lot of deep, soothing breaths, but Colin seemed willing to wait without comment while I calmed myself.  
  
“Apology accepted,” I finally said. Anger would accomplish nothing here.  
  
“Good,” he said, with a sharp nod at me, “I suggest we consider the matter resolved and move on with your training.” He walked towards the far side of the room, while beckoning me towards the center.  
  
“First,” he said, “I want you to try attacking me with your weapon in whatever way feels most natural. Avoid actively using your brute or striker abilities if you can, but don’t be afraid to go full speed. My garments include a thin weave of impact-absorbing tinkertech fibers. The worst you can do is bruise me.”  
  
Of course Armsmaster owns tinkertech gym clothes. I sighed, then squared up against him. I adjusted my grip on my staff several times until I found something that felt right, and then started swinging away. Despite what he’d said, I tried to go at around 2/3rds speed just in case. I’d only been through the first of many rounds of power testing, but it was clear that I was going to end up with a brute rating of at least some kind.  
  
That turned out to be a mistake. Colin deflected each of my slowed-down strikes with almost contemptuous ease. Even once I started going as fast and hard as I could, none of my swings came even close to hitting him. I knew for a fact that he wasn’t as fast as I was, but his blocks and dodges were so precise and efficient that my speed advantage didn’t matter. His staff moved a few inches for every foot mine swung, and yet it always ended up in the exact right place to stop me. Even Hookwolf hadn’t been this perfect.  
  
After a few minutes of this, he held out his hand for me to stop. “Good,” he said, not even breathing hard. The bastard. “You did well. Your technique was sloppy at best, but with your lack of experience it should have been non-existent.”  
  
I blinked. “Thanks?”  
  
“One of the things I wanted to test was whether you would instinctively adopt a form reminiscent of an established style of staff combat, and to the best of my knowledge, you did not. This suggests that your Thinker power accelerates your normal learning processes, rather than directly granting you existing knowledge as is the case with thinkers like Victor or Uber.”  
  
“That sounds right,,” I said, “but what does it mean for today’s training?”  
  
“For today,” he said, “not much. In the future, it will affect the sort of training we arrange for you. I suspect we’ll find that the most effective method will involve a highly compressed basic overview of the subject, followed by advanced lessons aimed at preparing you for self-study. ” He stared off into the distance for a few seconds, maybe imagining some kind of tinkertech robo-tutor, before turning his attention back fully to me.”  
  
“Let’s change things up,” he said. “This time, I’m going to attack, and you should try to defend in whatever way feels natural. I’ll start off at half speed, then move up to full over the course of a few minutes.”  
  
I rolled my shoulders, then tried to take the same defensive stance Colin had used against me. He didn’t give me any sign that I was doing it right or wrong, but it felt correct, somehow. He, in turn, took a different stance, which made me want to facepalm with how obvious it seemed. I could immediately see a dozen different ways it would be more effective than the haphazard way I’d attacked. This was going to be tough.  
  
“Wait,” I said, before we started. “I might be wrong, but I’m pretty certain that my gym clothes don’t have any tinkertech impact fibre in them. Should I be wearing some kind of protection?”  
  
“I thought your powers took care of that for you?” Colin replied, and I decided that he either possessed literally no sense of humor, or he did indeed have a world-class deadpan. “I’ve seen your power testing results, and this level of force should be well within your safe tolerance. Even then, just say ‘stop’ if you ever feel like you’re at risk of actual injury, and we’ll scale things back. Are you ready?”  
  
“Bring it on,” I said, smiling.  
  
\---  
  
After training, I made my way back to the Wards HQ for a shower and a fresh change of clothes, before heading out to the little kitchen to see what I could do about lunch. I discovered that, despite the kitchen itself being rather small, the fridge was absolutely huge. It held enough leftover pizza and basic kitchen staples to feed a small army, and it was barely even half full. A few items had someone’s name scrawled across them, so I assumed everything else was fair game and got to work.  
  
A few minutes later, the warning siren announced that someone was about to enter the room. I cranked down the stove, slipped on my placeholder mask, and turned around to see Kid Win and Clockblocker come in, both in costume. Clockblocker took off his helmet, revealing his freckled face and shocking red hair, and sniffed the air theatrically.  
  
“Do mine nostrils deceive me,” he said, “or doth I smell the sweet siren scent of bacon?”  
  
“Thou smellst true, good sir Clock,” I replied, holding back a chuckle. “I was just making myself some lunch. Would either of you like some?”  
  
“Do you even need to ask?” said Kid Win, now Chris since he was out of costume. “We’re teenage boys, you have bacon, the answer is obvious. Right, Dennis?”  
  
“If I ever turn down bacon,” Clockblocker, now Dennis, replied, “I want you to throw me into M/S screening immediately. That’s just not something I’d do of my own free will.”  
  
“Right,” I said, “Just give me a few minutes, then. Either of you have any allergies? Dietary restrictions?” When they shook their heads, I turned the stove back up, and tossed a few more strips of bacon into the already-sizzling frying pan. Ah, induction burners, where have you been all my life? Chris and Dennis went off to their rooms to change before I could ask if anyone else was coming, so I just shrugged and prepared enough sandwiches for everyone. It didn’t take much more time, and it wasn’t like I was lacking for ingredients.  
  
By the time Chris and Dennis came back, I’d laid out a half-dozen plates on one of the kitchen counters and taken my own with me to the sofa.  
  
“Qu'est-ce que c’est?” Dennis asked, as he and Chris grabbed their own plates and joined me in front of the TV.  
  
“Bacon, lettuce, tomato and egg sandwiches,” I replied, before taking a bite of my own. It was, as I’d come to expect, heavenly, the crisp, sharp flavors of tomato and bacon perfectly complementing the hearty taste of a well-seasoned fried egg. I still didn’t understand how it worked, but super cooking was definitely one of the best parts of my power. Judging by the sounds of approval from the other couch, Chris and Dennis agreed.  
  
“Holy crap, Taylor,” Chris said, after some time spent clearly savoring his first bite. “This is delicious!” Dennis didn’t stop chewing long enough to say anything, but he managed to nod along enthusiastically.”  
  
“Heh, thanks,” I said, blushing faintly at the praise. “It’s a pretty simple recipe; I just added a few seasonings and watched the bacon like a hawk to make sure it didn’t overcook.”  
  
“We have seasonings?” Dennis asked, finally having found a chance to swallow.  
  
“Way in the back,” I said, “behind the 40-pack of microwave popcorn and the 12 different flavors of protein bar. They were pretty stale, but I’m used to making due.”  
  
“Taylor,” Chris leaned towards me conspiratorially, “are you some kind of food tinker?” His tone was clearly joking, but it made me think. I didn’t actually know what using a Tinker power felt like.  
  
“I...don’t think so?” I said.  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know?”  
  
“Well,” I said, “my power’s definitely involved somehow, but I’m pretty sure it’s more of a Thinker thing than a Tinker thing. I mean, how would I even tell?”  
  
“It depends,” said Dennis.  
  
“On?” I asked.  
  
“Whether or not you want to go up to Piggot’s office and explain that the three of us just _ate_ untested tinkertech,” he said, before taking another bite.  
  
Chris and I sat quietly for several seconds while Dennis chewed contentedly.  
  
“So, not a Tinker?” I finally said.  
  
“Not a Tinker,” Chris agreed.  
  
With that matter clearly and definitively settled, we sat and ate in companionable silence for a while before I spoke up again.  
  
“So, mind if I ask what two Wards are doing out and about in costume on a Friday morning? I thought you guys still had to go to school?”  
  
“We actually were at school,” Chris said, “just not our school. They sent us over to Winslow for to put on Standard School Assembly #3.”  
  
“Don’t do drinks, don’t drug and drive, school good, gangs bad, etc,” Dennis finished.  
  
I rolled my eyes. “Knowing Winslow, I’m guessing you didn’t find a receptive audience?”  
  
Dennis gave a bitter laugh. “The ‘smarten up and fly right’ speech kinda loses a lot of its oomph when half the audience is wearing gang colors. I could swear I saw this one skinhead wannabe actually selling drugs in the middle of the assembly.”  
  
I saw an opportunity. “Do you ever get frustrated at having to waste your time with that stuff when you could be out actually fighting crime?”  
  
Chris and Dennis exchanged a look that said this wasn’t the first time this subject had come up, before Chris spoke.  
  
“Sure, now and then. We all do. You can’t let it get to you, though. As Miss Militia says, school assemblies and autograph signings keep the Youth Guard off our backs. Otherwise, they’d start yelling about how the Protectorate was using us as child soldiers, and do their best to keep us from going out on patrol at all. It sucks, but there’s no point getting bent up about it.”  
  
“I take it that not all of the other Wards agree with that last bit?” I replied.  
  
“That’s putting it mildly,” Dennis said, rolling his eyes. “Missy always seems to be champing at the bit for a brawl, but I can hardly blame her. She’s had to put up with all this PR stuff longer than any of us, and she’s still got another half-decade of it ahead of her. Honestly, by this point I’m surprised she hasn’t managed to second trigger just so she can twist the entire Youth Guard into the world’s screamiest pretzel.”  
  
“Hah, yeah,” Chris laughed, “but she’s not the worst. Shadow Stalker hates PR gigs more than she hates, well, everything else. Which is a lot.”  
  
“Only ‘cause you all make it so easy,” a new voice grumbled from near the entrance. I turned to see Sophia finish phasing through the main door. She wasn’t in costume.  
  
“We all hate it; you guys just don’t have the guts to admit it. What’s the point in letting Lung’s little brats and the Hitler Youth laugh their asses off at you? It’s a goddamn waste of time.”  
  
“Is that why you’re cutting class, Sophia?” Dennis asked, his tone more than a little mocking.  
  
“Winslow’s out for the day, asshole,” she replied. “Most of the other students fucked off as soon as your cute little assembly was over, so Blackwell just let everyone else go. Of course, I wouldn’t mind cutting something other than class, so maybe you want to shut your goddamn mouth before I start feeling inspired.”  
  
Dennis turned and gave me a ‘what can you do?’ shrug, while Sophia stomped off towards her room.  
  
“Sophia, wait a second,” I called out. Surprisingly, she actually turned around. I pointed at the kitchen counter. “I made sandwiches. One of them is yours, if you want it.”  
  
Sophia stared at me for a second, nonplussed, before smirking and rolling her eyes.  
  
“How very domestic of you, Hebert,” she sneered. “What makes you think I’d even touch…?”  
  
Sophia stopped speaking and sniffed the air.  
  
“...there bacon in this?” she asked, sounding like every word physically hurt her to say.  
  
“Among other things,” I said. I tried not to sound smug, but I was only human.  
  
Sophia grumbled, but that didn’t stop her from carrying the plate back with her to her room.  
  
\---  
  
The rest of the day passed in a blur of paperwork and further socialization. I saw Sophia a handful more times; she didn’t say anything to me, just kept giving me these strange looks, like she was sizing me up or something. It was creepy, but it was also a step up from death threats or surprise attacks, so I wasn’t going to complain.  
  
The other Wards more than made up for the lack of her unique kind of ‘company’. By the time I finally managed to crawl back to my room in the evening, I was thoroughly worn out. Talking with the others felt natural now, even fun, but it was still draining. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and read until I fell asleep, preferably something that didn’t have ‘manual’ or ‘handbook’ in the title.  
  
I’d just managed to get comfortable when Sophia ghosted in through my door, decked out in full costume. Before I could figure out how to even start responding, she hurled a plastic hockey mask at me, forcing me to catch it before it hit me in the face. She had her mask half-off, and I felt a chill run down my back when I took in her expression. Sophia was smiling.  
  
“Get your big-girl boots on, Hebert. We’re going hunting!”


	6. Rising 1.4

**March 4, 2011**  
  
I stood at the top of the world and looked down upon my city in judgement. Far beneath me, in a worn-down back alley just like any other, the criminal element scurried to and fro like the rats they were. The vermin spread despair like a plague, determined to ruin what little innocence remained in Brockton Bay. Tonight, that changed. Tonight, the Doctor was making a house call, and she’d earned her MD In _Justice._  
  
No, too cheesy...or was it not cheesy enough? Definitely not the exact right amount of cheese. Maybe I could riff a little on the concept of an exterminator, switch the bit about ‘rats’ for ‘bugs,’ see if that scanned any better when I-  
  
“Hey, Sunshine!” Sophia hissed behind me, “What’s the hold up? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?”  
  
I turned around to glare at her. “I’m trying to see if they’re armed. Armsmaster tells me I’m not bulletproof, and while I’d love it if he was wrong, this isn’t the place to test it.”  
  
We were right at the edge of E88 territory, perched on the rooftop of a four storey apartment building, In the alley below us, a half-dozen tattooed skinheads were loading what looked like heavily duct-taped tupperware bins into the back of an entirely non-descript van. I had no idea what was actually in them, but judging by how anxious the Nazis looked, it was probably something the law would frown upon. They were always in motion, pacing up and down the alley or discreetly checking the street for trouble. Their vigilance might have been impressive if any of them bothered to ever look up. I mean, we had how many flying heroes in this city?  
  
No need to mention that it took me less than a minute to figure out that I wouldn’t be able to see their guns from up here, or that I’d spent the rest of the time working on my internal monologue. What’s the point of hunting criminals from the rooftops if you don’t get to monologue a little bit? Shadow Stalker was probably just pissed off because she somehow knew that mine was better than hers.  
  
“Bad guys have guns,” Sophia half-whispered, like she was lecturing a recalcitrant five-year-old. “Deal with it, Sunshine. Better yet, deal with _them,_ fast, or I’m gonna jump down and do it for you.”  
  
“Says the girl with the intangible breaker form,” I shot back. “Plus, are you really going to keep calling me that all night?”  
  
Sophia chuckled. “Only until you pick a cape name that doesn’t sound so dumb, _Sunshine_. Besides, it fits the way you’re always smiling at everyone like a goddamn barbie doll.”  
  
I bristled. “It’s not dumb,” I said, devastating her with the comeback of the century. “Daystar is just an archaic word for-”  
  
“I know what it means, dumbass,” Sophia interrupted. “I just think it sounds less like a name for a hero, and more like a budget airline, or a tanning lotion from the 70s, or car insurance for school buses, or...”  
  
I did my best to glare at her through my hockey mask, willing my rage to manifest in physical form. That a giant burning fist did not suddenly appear and punch her in the face was just further proof that my power never let me do anything fun.  
  
“...or a cruise-line for the old people too old for normal old people cruises, or the latest detergent that promises to make your whites even whiter. I could go on, but speaking of whiter than white…”  
  
She gestured towards the roof edge, and I rolled my eyes. Sophia made a compelling argument; getting shot wouldn’t be as bad as having to keep listening to her. Plus, I’d be punching Nazis, who I had to admit were at least slightly more deserving targets than her smug little face.  
  
“So,” I whispered, “all I have to do is go down there and beat the snot out of a bunch of E88 goons, then I can get some sleep and you’ll get the hell off my back from now on?”  
  
“Dunno,” she replied, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Depends on how you do. I want to see if you can actually impress me.”  
  
Shadow Stalker’s mask covered her entire face, but I could effortlessly picture the smug grin plastered across her features. I’d seen it often enough before, usually from the ground after she had ‘accidentally’ tripped me. She still saw herself as the top dog. It was time I disabused her of that notion.  
  
“Fine,” I said, turning back to face the alley, “but you should know that the last person to say that to me got a cinderblock to the face.” Before she could reply, I jumped.  
  
The building actually had a fire escape, and until about ten seconds ago I’d been planning on climbing down it. I’d never actually jumped from a height like this before, but that had swiftly become less important than getting away from Shadow Stalker as fast as possible. Two seconds after jumping, it didn’t really matter anymore.  
  
I hit the pavement with a crash, flaring my essence to help my legs absorb the fall. The shock rattled me to the bone, but I didn’t feel anything break. Completely by accident, I landed right between two of the skinheads, interrupting what must have been a scintillating conversation.  
  
I moved before either of them could react, sucker-punching the one to my right so hard it actually lifted him briefly off the ground. The other one, to his credit, immediately swung a baseball bat at me, but I just ducked and let him wallop his friend in the head. With a sickening crunch, the score came to “Daystar 1, Nazis 0”.  
  
Skinhead #2 reeled back in shock, but managed to gather enough presence of mind to yell out a warning to his friends. “Cape!”  
  
He swung the bat at me again, and I sidestepped the blow. His quick reaction time suggested that he was pretty familiar with violence, while his careless swings indicated a definite lack of discipline. When he swung a third time I caught the end of the bat in one hand; with my essence reinforcing my limbs, it didn’t sting any more than a crisp high-five. I yanked back hard on the bat, and the idiot skinhead let himself be dragged along with it rather than letting go. As soon as he stumbled past me I slammed my elbow down on the back of his neck, and heard him slump to the ground like a bag of fascist potatoes.  
  
Daystar in the lead with 2-nothing!.  
  
I flipped my new baseball bat into a proper grip just as two more Nazis came running from the other side of the van, one armed with a knife, the other with a machete. I grinned at them. Sure, they couldn’t see it behind my mask, but it still felt good. They stopped when they saw me, yelling threats and slashing the air with their weapons but not actually charging. Since they didn’t strike me as the most restrained individuals, and they weren’t quaking in fear, these two were probably serving as a distraction while the others snuck up behind me. Not half bad for maybe five seconds of planning.  
  
I dashed at them, faster than any non-parahuman would be capable of. Machete guy tried to slash me, but I knocked his blade out of the way with one swing and broke his wrist with the second. Knife guy went to stab me in the side, so I flipped the bat into a reverse grip and used it to block the attack. I felt the blade jam a good inch into the thick wood, such that when I spun the bat back into a ready position, the knife came with it.  
  
Shadow Stalker wanted impressive? Fine. I’d knock her damn socks off.  
  
Now that I’d positioned myself in between the two standing skinheads, I turned my back on the former machete-wielder so that I could smash the ex-knife-guy right in the jaw. While he was reeling, I swung the bat back over my shoulder to smack Machete right on what felt like the top of his head. Once I heard him fall to his knees behind me, I leaned backwards to sit on his back like it was a bar stool, before plucking the knife out of the baseball bat, tossing the bat aside, and pretending to use the knife like a nail file.  
  
For some reason, his friend seemed to take offense at this, and charged me. I hauled my feet off the ground, braced my hands against my volunteer bar stool, and kicked the charging Nazi with both feet right in his stomach. I flared my essence at the moment of impact, so that the Nazi in front of me went flying to crash into the alley wall, while the one behind me smashed face-first into the side of the van.  
  
I turned my gaze towards the rooftops to look for Shadow Stalker, which was why the gunshot caught me off guard. Something fast and hot screamed by a half-inch from my ear, and without thinking I threw myself backwards as hard as I could. As I jumped, I got a good look at the last two Nazis, both holding nasty-looking pistols, standing near the front of the van. I threw the knife at them just before I hit the ground. It didn’t hit either of them, but it made them duck out of the way long enough for me to scrabble into cover behind the van and kick back up to my feet.  
  
Pausing to catch my breath, I stuck one hand out from behind the van before quickly pulling it back, and was rewarded with the sound of another gunshot. If they were smart, they’d have one gun trained on each side of the van, ready to shoot as soon as I bolted in either direction. I could come at them from over the top of the van, but that would just make me an easy target for both of them. I could also try creeping under the van, but if either of them thought to check I’d be a sitting duck. I had one last option, and it was by far the least risky, but if it failed I’d look like an idiot.  
  
Ah, well. Time to do something I saw in a movie once.  
  
I took a step back from the van, set my legs in a wide stance, and focused. I tried to visualize the way my strength flowed from my solid foundation, up my back, and out through my arms. Next, I visualized my essence doing the same thing, moving through me in waves, growing in power each time. I felt the energy build up inside me, straining to burst free, and then, at the exact moment that it would slip my grasp, I slammed both of my hands into the van’s back bumper.  
  
My power flashed through the alley, shining and golden, as the van rocketed forward from the force of my blow. I only managed to shove it about ten yards, but that was more than enough for it slam into both of the gunmen with disabling force, sending them spinning into piles of debris on opposite sides of the alleyway. I had no idea if either of them were even conscious anymore, but just in case I walked over and kicked their guns away from their reach.  
  
I had my back to the van when I heard a soft ‘thump’ from its top. I decided not to turn around when I spoke.  
  
“That impressive enough for you, Shadow Stalker?”  
  
“Meh,” she said, hopping off the van to land beside me. “I give it an eight out of ten.”  
  
“...Really?”  
  
She wiggled her hand back and forth in a gesture of ambivalence. “Their asses have been thoroughly kicked, sure, but you lost points for showboating.”  
  
“For the love of…” I grunted, and kicked a nearby pop can so that it bounced off one of the groaning Nazis’ foreheads. “Fine, whatever. Do you want to find out just what they were loading into the van?”  
  
Shadow Stalker shrugged. “Don’t really care. Just call the cops to come pick ‘em up while we move on to the next batch of punks.”  
  
I sighed. “As much as I love beating up Nazis as a bonding activity, it’s almost midnight. I don’t know about you, but some of us have to wake up early to fight Armsmaster tomorrow.”  
  
Shadow Stalker actually scoffed at that. “Weak excuse. You can leave if you want, but I’m not going home until I get to fight someone myself, since you hogged all of the last batch.”  
  
I took a slow breath. I would have to reach deep inside myself in order to find enough sarcasm to give Shadow Stalker the response she deserved. Before I could speak, though, I heard a gunshot, followed by a shrill scream from somewhere nearby. I was out of the alley and running before the echo faded.  
  
I dashed into a small parking lot, shared by a cluster of small businesses. Only one of the lampposts was working, so the radiance I carried with me lit up the place like a tiny sun. Essence and adrenaline both surged through me, and my racing mind picked up all the relevant details in a heartbeat: A single car, its driver’s side window broken. A woman, sitting on the ground, back pressed up to the car, huddled over in terror or pain. Next to her, a child. Standing over them, two men in E88 colors, each holding a gun.  
  
Not an hour ago, I’d been reading through the exact instructions on how to handle a situation like this. The details escaped me, but the overall message was clear. If you’re absolutely, absurdly confident that you can disarm the attackers without being shot, do so. Otherwise, do not escalate, do not startle. Get their attention so their guns are pointed away from any bystanders. Stay calm, stall them until backup arrives.  
  
It made sense to me at the time. Can’t afford to be hot-headed when other peoples’ lives were at risk. I hadn’t realized how different it would be in the moment. Thinking was harder. My heart was racing. My hands were shaking. Worst of all, though, was that suddenly, out of nowhere, I _remembered._  
  
 _An alleyway. Snow, falling. A woman running, dark hair streaming out behind her. Golden light filling the alley. Golden light inside me. A voice, behind me, my father’s voice, my name. A gunshot. I reach out, too slow. I fall away from myself._  
  
  
  
 _Two giant creatures, moving through space, intertwined. Darkness. Anger. Violence._  
  
  
  
 _An alleyway._  
  
 _Snow, falling.  
  
My father wasn't breathing..._  
  
My fist struck the first Nazi in the face before I even realized I was screaming. My steel-hard knuckles shattered his jawbone without the faintest sense of resistance, and I imagined I could feel the cracks spread through the rest of his skull. Then the full force of my essence slammed into him like a sledgehammer, sending him twisting through the air. Blood poured from his ruined mouth in slow motion, filled with bits of shattered teeth. Some of it splashed across my mask, bits of bone plinking off the plastic like gravel in a windstorm. The Nazi bounced off the top of the car before slamming back into the pavement, tumbling across the parking lot until he hit a wall. It would have almost been comical, if I’d been able to laugh.  
  
“Fuck!” the other one cried, before whipping his gun 90 degrees so that I could suddenly see right down the barrel. He fired right as I jerked my head to side, thunder suddenly ringing inside my head while a line of fire traced itself over my cheekbone. While I staggered backwards, he started to run towards the street, his motions stiff and ungainly with panic.  
  
I broke free of the shock and prepared to chase him, when he turned halfway around and started firing blindly in my direction, still running all the while. The first few shots went wide, and I grinned, until suddenly I saw that the barrel has lined up pointing almost right at me. Almost. In that instant, I knew that it was all going to happen again, and I was powerless to stop it.  
  
I reached out, too slow, always too sl-  
  
Fire suddenly bloomed in the palm of my outstretched hand, like I’d grasped a hot coal straight from the furnace. Less than a heartbeat later, I heard the boom of a gunshot rip through the night. Before the Nazi could fire another shot, a pair of crossbow bolts streaked out of the darkness to stab into his neck and his gun arm. His legs crumpled bonelessly underneath him, and he tumbled like a ragdoll before coming to a stop on the sidewalk.  
  
Slowly, I brought my hand back and looked down at it, seeing only a tiny piece of malformed metal in the center of my palm. A bullet. I caught a bullet. I actually. Caught. A bullet. HolyshitIcaughtabullet-holyshit-holyshi-  
  
“Hey, Sunshine!”  
  
I looked up, startled out of my reverie. Shadow Stalker stood right next to me, snapping her finger in front of my face.  
  
“Earth to Sunshine, do you read me? Don’t tell me you pulled a badass stunt like that only to go into shell-shock like a wimp.”  
  
I shook my head, tried my best to focus. Something felt terribly familiar, but I couldn't recall why...  
  
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said.” You don’t need to worry!”  
  
Well, that’s what I meant to say. What actually came out was...  
  
“I caught a bullet!”  
  
“Shit, really?” she replied, before looking down at the lump of metal cooling in my outstretched hand. “Shit, you caught a bullet. That’s pretty hardcore.”  
  
“I caught-” I closed my mouth, took a deep breath through my nose, and tried again. “I had to. It was going to hit one of them.”  
  
I pointed towards the car, and suddenly noticed that the woman leaning against it was unconscious. I rushed over to her in a panic, but the child (who I just realized was a boy at least as old as I was) held out his hand.  
  
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said, “she’s not hurt. It’s just a problem with her blood pressure. She’ll wake up in a minute or two.”  
  
“Alright,” I said, “alright, okay, okay.”  
  
Smooth, Taylor. Way to keep a cool head in a crisis.  
  
Shadow Stalker walked up beside me. “What the hell were you two doing out here at this time of night? Did you _want_ to get yourselves killed?”  
  
The boy flinched at her words.  
  
“It wasn’t Mom’s fault. She had to work late, and by the time her shift finished she was feeling too light-headed to risk driving. It’s rare for her to get that bad, but-”  
  
“Sounds pretty fucking stupid of you,” Shadow Stalker said. I shot her a glare, but the boy dropped his gaze.  
  
“I just wanted to get here quick so I could drive her home. It’s Empire territory, but Mom and I can both pass as white pretty well, so I figured it wouldn’t be a problem. The bus was running late, though, and by the time I got here, these two guys…”  
  
His voice trailed off, so I gestured for him to keep talking.  
  
“I tried to step in, talk them down, but then there were gunshots nearby, and suddenly they had guns pointed at us. They sounded panicked, told us to hand over our wallets and keys, but then Mom passed out and it spooked one of them into shooting...”  
  
I felt the blood drain from my face. Those gunshots they heard had been aimed at me. Some rational part of me understand that it was impossible to predict something like this, that I shouldn’t hold myself responsible. The rest of me mostly wanted to throw up.  
  
“And then Sunshine here showed up and saved your ass.” Shadow Stalker finished.  
  
The kid (why did I keep saying that, he had to be at least 16 if he was driving) looked over at me.  
  
“Sunshine? Is that your cape name?”  
  
“Daystar, actually,” I said, then caught myself. “Well, except no, because my official introduction isn’t for another two weeks and I really shouldn’t be…”  
  
I paused, blushing under my mask, and contemplated just super-gluing my lips shut for the rest of the night.  
  
“Which is to say,” I continued, “what makes you think I’m even a cape? I might just be an ordinary girl coming home from, uh, hockey practice?”  
  
The kid’s eyebrow shot up. “You’re glowing,” he said.  
  
Shadow Stalker took the opportunity to jump in. “You are literally surrounded by golden light.”  
  
“You ran in here too fast for me to even see.”  
  
“You punched a Nazi so hard he _bounced_.”  
  
“You caught a bullet barehanded.”  
  
“You caught a fucking bullet!”  
  
“Okay, okay, enough!” I shouted. “Fine. Maybe I am a cape. Maybe. Could you at least wait a couple weeks before spreading the news? My boss isn’t going to be happy if pictures of me in a hockey mask and a sweatshirt end up on PHO before my big reveal.”  
  
“Our boss isn’t going to be happy, period.” Shadow Stalker said. “This is too much to just walk away from, especially since we’re going to have to give a statement to the cops.”  
  
Sure enough, I could see flashing blue and red lights driving towards the parking lot. Either Shadow Stalker called them in after I forgot, or they’d been called in for the gunshots.  
  
“Ah, well,” I said, as I started looking for something to wipe the blood off my mask. “I’m not too worried,” I lied. I wouldn't give Sophia the satisfaction of seeing me shaking in my boots.  
  
“You should be,” Shadow Stalker replied. “Piggot’s going to blow a gasket when she sees how badly you fucked that guy up.”  
  
To my surprise, she pulled out a ragged cloth from somewhere in her costume and handed it to me. It was already covered in a disturbing number of reddish-brown stains, but it was better than nothing.  
  
“He had a gun and I’m still untrained,” I said, sounding exactly as relaxed as I didn’t feel. “I had to take him down fast and couldn’t afford to hold back. I was just making the best of a bad situation.”  
  
I couldn’t actually take off my mask to clean it, so I had to just close my eyes and do my best to wipe it off without smearing anything onto anywhere unpleasant. It was probably a good thing that I couldn’t see the results.  
  
“Besides,” I continued, “it’s a situation I was only in because a senior Ward convinced me that it was alright to go out like this.”  
  
“Fuck you, Sunshine,” she spat, flipping me the bird for good measure.  
  
“C’mon,” I said, “you wouldn’t be going out like this if you expected to get in huge trouble for it, am I right? I bet the director turns a blind eye to stuff like this as long as you don’t actually kill anyone.”  
  
Shadow Stalker brought her second middle finger to join the first, which I took to mean that I was right.  
  
“Are you sure he’s actually alive?” the kid asked.  
  
“Sure,” I said, “I can hear him crying, so he can’t be dead. Yet.”  
  
An officer climbed out of the nearest car and started walking towards us. Shadow Stalker turned to face him, looking firmly professional, but when she spoke it was directed back at the kid and I.  
  
“Fair point, Sunshine. Besides, who gives a fuck? He’s a fucking Nazi.”  
  
She stepped up to meet the officer, the confident swagger back in her step.  
  
“Good evening, officer. We're with the Wards. We've got one Nazi with a shattered jaw, and another with a few tranq bolts sticking out of him, but nobody worth worrying about was injured...”


	7. Rising 1.5

**March 5, 2011**  
  
“Couldn’t even wait a week, could you?”  
  
Director Piggot’s voice was like a glacier: cold, slow, and utterly relentless. I’d spoken before with people who wanted to kill me, but this was my first experience with someone who might honestly think that death would be too kind a fate for one such as I. I couldn’t fight it, couldn’t run from it. All I could do was stand my ground and do my best to look a bit more guilty than I actually felt.  
  
“It...seemed like a good idea at the time, ma’am.”  
  
Now that I was in her office, I understood why she greeted prospective new capes in the ground-floor meeting rooms. The place was fastidiously tidy, without a single scrap of paper out of place. I couldn’t see any photographs or other keepsakes on display, just various certifications displayed on the walls and a few plants so neat they must have been clipped with the aid of a laser level. The room even felt like it was two or three degrees colder than the rest of the building, though again, that might just be the effect of Piggot’s barely-restrained temper.  
  
“That’s a piss-poor excuse, Daystar,” she said.  
  
“I’m aware of that, Ma’am,” I replied, “but it’s the only one I have. For what it’s worth, I didn’t think things would get out of hand like they did.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say you did much thinking of any kind. When you went out on ‘patrol’ as an untrained, untested, and under-equipped teenage vigilante, you didn’t just put yourself at risk. You risked the lives of your partner in crime, every bystander within a half-mile of you, and even the criminals you fought!”  
  
Right up against Piggot's desk, just out of her sight, I clenched my fists until my knuckles went white. I didn’t want to risk further antagonizing her, but I wasn’t going to just let her browbeat me without speaking in my own defense.  
  
“In my defense, ma’am, those criminals were engaged in smuggling drugs and armed robbery at the time.”  
  
“Neither of which carry the death penalty in the United States!” Piggot thundered. “I will NOT allow my capes to write off anyone’s lives as an acceptable risk just because they were bored!”  
  
“I was defending myself!” My voice came out as barely less than a shout.  
  
“Because you put yourself in a situation you had no business being in!” Piggot’s face had gone red, but her voice was still steady. “I’ve read your power testing results. You’re a Brute _and_ a Striker! One stray hit with your power could shatter someone’s skull, crush their chest, turn their organs to pulp! You’re a loaded gun, Daystar. Every time you go off, there’s a chance that someone dies. That means you can’t just run off and punch Nazis for shits and giggles!”  
  
“I know how to control my power, ma’am.” I grumbled. Even to me, it sounded uncomfortably like sulking.  
  
“Really?” Piggot replied, “There’s at least one person last night who might say otherwise. That he can say anything at all, in fact, is only thanks to the efforts of our city’s resident ‘miracle healer.’ Hell, without Panacea, the ER docs only gave him a 50/50 chance of living through the night! I can’t have you doing that to people by accident, Daystar, not even the E88.”  
  
I felt my face flush red with anger, burning even hotter because I knew that she had me. I’d practically gone berserk, last night, and I couldn’t even remember why. I didn’t have a leg to stand on, and we both knew it.  
  
“I fucked up, ma’am,” I whispered.  
  
Piggot met my eyes for several intense seconds, before letting out a weary sigh and all but collapsing into her chair.  
  
“You did. Goddamnit, Daystar, I was actually starting to think I could trust you.”  
  
Piggot was a petty tyrant with an irrational grudge against parahumans. I’d known since our first meeting that she was going to be an obstacle to my plans, that I would eventually have to betray her trust to accomplish my goals. Why, then, did that one little remark hurt me so much?  
  
We sat in uncomfortable silence for at least a minute more, before Piggot straightened up and pushed a piece of paper across her desk towards me.  
  
“This is an official Notice of Reprimand. You need to sign it to indicate that you understand what you did wrong, and that you accept your punishment.”  
  
“That might be difficult,” I said. “You haven’t actually told me how you’re punishing me.”  
  
“That’s because, basically, we’re not. Normally, I’d take you off patrols until you learned the cost of being a reckless idiot, but you’re not actually going on patrol until after your _official_ debut. Likewise, I’m not going to take away any of your basic privileges because I am well aware that you were literally homeless less than a week ago, and despite what the other Wards may say, I’m not _completely_ heartless.”  
  
Piggot sounded more resigned than angry, now, which was probably about as close as she ever came to being nice. I nodded, but held back from showing any relief. Something about her demeanor made me feel like another shoe was still yet to drop.  
  
“Most of all, though, I’m going easy on you because I would normally call what you did last night good work, if it wasn’t done in the stupidest way possible without even the faintest trace of authorization. Thanks to you and Shadow Stalker, not only did the police catch one of the E88’s major drug shipments, they traced it back to a lab in the nearby apartment. That, plus saving an innocent mother and her son from a pair of armed robbers, would normally make for a very impressive first night out.”  
  
I didn’t have to pretend to be confused by that.  
  
“Uh, thank you, ma’am?”  
  
“Don’t thank me yet, Daystar,” she said. “You’ve got a long way to climb in my eyes before you’re even worth looking down on. I’m not saying this because I endorse the stunt you two pulled last night. I’m saying it because I believe in giving credit where credit’s due, and because I aim to use this little SNAFU as a teaching experience. Assuming, for a moment, that you were actually cleared to go out on patrol, what did you think you did wrong last night? Think carefully, because your answers will determine just how the rest of this meeting goes for you.”  
  
I took her at her word, and spent a few minutes replaying the events of last night. The fight in the alleyway was pretty clear, still, but my memories of the parking lot were fuzzy. Something about the situation had reminded me of the night I lost Dad, but I couldn’t really remember what, or why, only that it left me feeling both furious and terrified.  
  
After a few minutes of reflection, I caught Piggot’s eye, and, once she nodded, began speaking.  
  
“Assuming that I was actually cleared to go on patrols, ma’am, my first mistake would still be leaving without telling anyone where I was going. Shadow Stalker and I both had our Wards phones on us, but if things had gone badly we could have been incapacitated before we had the chance to call for help.”  
  
I paused, but Piggot just gestured for me to go on.  
  
“Secondly, when I heard the gunshot from the parking lot, I ran ahead before conferring with my partner. I could have been charging headlong into greater danger than I realized, and I couldn’t even guarantee that Shadow Stalker would be able to follow me.”  
  
I took a deep breath.  
  
“Thirdly, I used too much force in subduing the first gunman in the parking lot. I don’t really have an excuse for that one, ma’am. I panicked, and hit him as hard as I possibly could, forgetting that my Brute strength could have potentially lethal consequences. In doing so, I also removed any chance of de-escalating the situation, which put bystanders at greater risk.”  
  
I tried to think of something else to add, but Piggot spoke up before I could.  
  
“Not a terrible assessment. If you did this as a trained, vetted member of the Wards, one who I believed had practiced to control her power as much as possible, I’d even be inclined to give you a bit of slack on the excessive force. While it wasn’t the ideal way to handle the situation, if you’re going to take down an opponent with a gun to someone else’s head, the most important thing is to do so decisively. I would expect better from a member of the Protectorate, but from a Ward, I’d just be happy that nobody caught a bullet to the brain.”  
  
I nodded in response, but only let my guilty expression relax a little.  
  
“The biggest thing you missed,” she continued, “is that you need to avoid using untested power applications in a combat situation. I’m not talking about that trick with the bullet; that was clearly an exceptional situation. Using your power to effectively throw a loaded van at a pair of criminals, however, was not. For all you knew, you could have accidentally killed them with that trick, or left yourself open to getting shot. In that situation, the better choice would be to call on your partner for backup. Rest assured, I intend to have a conversation with Shadow Stalker about exactly why she, as the senior Ward, decided to let you handle a half-dozen armed Empire soldiers on your own.”  
  
I grimaced, partly just to avoid grinning instead. After almost two years of being bullied, schadenfreude was a rare treat for me. Unfortunately, it would be pretty inconvenient if Sophia was disciplined too harshly. Part of me still screamed in frustration at the thought of sticking my neck out for her, but the rest of me just plowed on ahead.  
  
“Please don’t be too hard on her, ma’am,” I all but squeaked out, looking downwards as if I couldn’t bear to meet her eyes. “I asked her to give me a chance to prove myself. She only held back because she believed I was capable of handling things on my own.”  
  
“Shadow Stalker isn’t the one responsible for judging what you can and can’t handle, Daystar,” Piggot replied. “That’s my job. Now, I try to only give this speech to each Ward once, so I want you to listen carefully.”  
  
“Ma’am?”  
  
“Daystar, as a member of the Wards ENE, you are absolutely not permitted to die. Not in the line of duty, and certainly not from doing something stupid in your off-time. Dead Wards are the worst kind of publicity possible for the PRT, and I will not allow you to cause that kind of trouble for me. If you die, you won’t be the one who has to deal with the Youth Guard crashing down on the entire department, or with the parents across America who get scared and try to pull their children from the program. You’re not the one who will have to deal with a permanent black mark on her record; you’ll get a cushy little memorial plaque in the lobby instead. I fully intend to continue serving this city until I’m cold in my grave, and I will not allow you hasten my end with the goddamn heart attack I will almost certainly suffer should I receive news of your untimely passing. Do you want to give me a heart attack, Daystar?”  
  
“No, ma’am,” I said, then, after some consideration, added “No, director Piggot, I do not want to give you a heart attack.”  
  
“Then you need to start making better decisions.” She all-but-grunted at me. “Starting with, let’s say, not making excuses for people who almost let you get shot. Let me be clear on this; Shadow Stalker is your teammate, and I expect you to be able to work with her, but you should _not_ be using her as an example of how a Ward should act. She’s on probation for a reason. Just because I’m not kicking either of you to the curb doesn’t mean I can’t make you regret being this stupid in the future. Is that clear?”  
  
“Yes, Director Piggot,” I replied.  
  
“Good. Sign the form. We’ve got three last things to attend to before you can leave.”  
  
I did as Piggot asked while she continued speaking.  
  
“First, as I mentioned earlier, your trick with the bullet lends some credence to your idea about being able to develop new powers over time. According to Armsmaster, this is something you simply were not capable of doing when you first underwent power testing, correct?”  
  
“That’s correct, ma’am.” Armsmaster and I had spent two hours this morning trying to test my new ability. It took fifteen minutes of being pelted with high-speed foam bullets before I was able to replicate the feat, but it had quickly gotten easier from there. After I managed to catch or block twenty in row, I discovered that I could just as easily deflect bullets with a staff, a baton, a knife, or anything else light enough for me to move quickly. Armsmaster described it as a combination Thinker/Mover power, capable of predicting ballistic trajectories at superhuman speeds and then guiding my movements accordingly. To me, it just felt like my limbs knew how to move even before my brain caught up.  
  
“That being the case,” Piggot went on, “I’ve signed the necessary orders to assign you a monthly training budget. Of course, thanks to recent actions that have made me question your better judgement, I’ve placed Armsmaster in charge of determining your discretionary training choices for the rest of the month. After that, if you haven’t managed to disappoint me like this again, I’ll see about gradually putting more of the budget under your personal control.”  
  
I winced. A had a lot of ideas about training that could potentially help me fight against Lung, but Armsmaster was likely to have me working on fifteen different shop courses in hopes of getting his team another Tinker. I couldn’t say why, but I had a hunch that it wouldn’t work out that way.  
  
Piggot must have noticed by dismay, because the edges of her mouth quirked up an almost imperceptible amount into an understated attempt at mimicking a human smile.  
  
“Secondly, there’s the matter of your accommodations. We’ve confirmed that you possess no living relatives willing or capable of taking you in. Navigating the foster home system is tricky even under normal circumstances, and finding a foster home for a masked cape is doubly so. Your caseworker will discuss the matter with you in more detail, but until you find a better situation, you will continue to reside in the Wards HQ. You’ll be allotted a biweekly stipend for clothing and other living expenses, on top of your standard Wards pay, as well as a one-month advance on both to help you acquire any immediate essentials.  
  
“This kind of situation isn’t unheard of for the Wards,” she continued, ”but it is considered very much less than ideal. While residing here, you will receive monthly visits from a Youth Guard representative to ensure that you are being treated properly, with a possibility of additional surprise inspections as deemed necessary. Personally, I would ask that you take any issues you may have with your accommodations to Miss Militia or myself before involving the Youth Guard, but I legally cannot advise against making use of their services.”  
  
Piggot’s tone said everything I needed to know about what she thought of that particular law.  
  
“Lastly,” she went on, “Since one of the Youth Guard’s most important functions is seeing that Wards receive the best education possible, I’ve taken the liberty of having you enrolled at Arcadia High. The PRT will be covering the cost of your tuition, obviously.”  
  
“You’re not sending me back to Winslow?” I asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”  
  
“We decided against that for several reasons. First, because Arcadia is much better prepared to meet the needs of the Wards regarding scheduling and secrecy. The only reason Shadow Stalker is still enrolled at Winslow is because she specifically asked to remain there. Second, because she is still the only other Ward at Winslow, and I don’t want to give her a chance to be even more of a bad influence on you. Third, because this kind of relocation is standard procedure when enlisting Case 17 capes like yourself.”  
  
“Case...what now?” I asked. It was the first time I’d heard about it. “Do you mean, like the...I probably shouldn’t call them monster capes…?”  
  
“Case 53s,” Piggot said, with a trace of wry amusement, “and yes, you should very much avoid calling anyone a ‘monster cape,’ if only to avoid giving our PR department any new ulcers. PRT Anomalous Case #17 refers to parahumans who experience physical changes within the normal limits of human biology as a result of their powers. It’s difficult to judge with certainty, especially regarding parahumans who trigger during adolescence, but we can make certain assessments based on comparisons to family members.“  
  
“So what does that mean for me?” I asked. I knew that my powers had been changing the way I looked; I just hadn’t realized that the PRT had figured it out themselves.  
  
“Mostly nothing,” Piggot answered, rolling her eyes. “Nobody really cares besides the science types, who need all the data they can get to keep discovering absolutely nothing conclusive about parahuman powers. There are, however, still a number of regs in the books that concern the need to ‘integrate you with a new peer group to reduce the risk to your civilian identity,’ and it’s easier for me to play along than fight them.  
  
I shook off the strange experience of seeing Director Piggot make little air quotes with her fingers, and shrugged.  
  
“That makes sense, I guess?”  
  
It wasn’t like a part of me had been looking forward to showing up all the other kids who used to mock me for my looks. That would have been extremely petty of me. The look on Emma’s face alone would have been priceless, though.  
  
“Excellent,” Piggot said. “Since you agree, I should inform you that you’re scheduled to start classes at the beginning of next week.”  
  
“Wait, what? That’s in, like, three days?!”  
  
Piggot allowed herself another grin at my expense. “The Youth Guard believes that you’ve missed more than enough school this year already. They were very insistent that you resume your education as soon as possible. Don’t worry; your teachers have been informed of your general situation, if not all of the specifics. They won’t expect you to be caught up immediately.”  
  
“But, but,” I stammered, suddenly feeling my heart start racing, “but I have a power that makes me literally superhuman at learning things! Why do I even need to go to school at all?”  
  
“That isn’t my call to make,” Piggot replied. “You wouldn’t be the first Thinker to say that, though. The Youth Guard feels that, even if a Ward’s power might make the academic aspects of school somewhat redundant, it’s still important for their social development that they spend time in the company of their peers. Just be glad you won’t have a hard time keeping your grades up.”  
  
I slumped in my chair. After two months of setting my own schedule, spending five days a week stuck in school sounded like a special kind of hell. I’d known this might happen, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Ah, well. At least at Arcadia I could be shunned for being an outsider instead of just because three of the popular girls didn’t like me.  
  
“That’s the last reason I didn’t feel the need to officially punish you, Miss Hebert,” Piggot said, sounding once again resigned. “More often than not, life finds its own ways of punishing us. If you have any further questions, direct them to Deputy Director Rennick or Miss Militia. For now, you’re dismissed.”  
  
\---  
  
My meeting with Carlos, AKA Aegis, was a lot shorter, but a lot more difficult.  
  
“I’m not going to chew you out,” he started with, “mostly because I imagine the Director has done a fine job with that already. Honestly, I can’t even blame you that much. You’ve probably been going stir crazy locked up in here. I just want to let you know that if you’re ever unsure about how our rules and restrictions work, whether or not someone on the team is being honest with you, if someone’s giving you grief, you can always call me. Day or night. As your team leader, it’s my duty, and as your friend, it’s my privilege.”  
  
I nodded, pretending I didn’t feel like shit for letting him go on like this. Cheesy or not, Carlos was just so damned earnest about everything, like being a good leader was all he’d ever wanted in life. I owed it to him to tell him that this wasn’t just a stupid mistake, that I knew the rules by heart already and just didn’t care about breaking them, and that I planned on doing it again whenever it helped advance my plans.  
  
Instead, all I said was “Thank you, I’ll try to keep that in mind, and do better in the future.”  
  
I was a huge fucking liar.  
  
The rest of the conversation just flowed over and through me without making much of an impression. We exchanged small talk, discussed sparring with the other Wards, talked about training schedules. He gave me a rough timeline for my ongoing introduction to the public, I reassured him that my living quarters had everything I needed. We talked, or, at least, we spoke words in each others’ presence.  
  
\---  
  
The evening found me in dire need of stress relief. I had two main ways of blowing off steam, and since punching Nazis was currently off the table, I hit the gym instead. The PRT building had a pretty impressive workout room, and at this hour I almost had the place to myself. I still had to wear a mask, but nobody seemed to pay me any attention beyond pointing out the stuff to wipe down the stations when I was finished. I figured they were probably pretty used to working out around capes.  
  
Back at Winslow, Gym class had been one of the worst; the school only had one gym teacher to manage double-sized classes all day, which gave Sophia’s friends on the track team plenty of opportunity to shove, trip, kick, and generally overwhelm me as much as they liked. With that in mind, I had been surprised to discover how much I enjoyed working out now that I didn’t have a giant target painted on my back.  
  
Tonight, I wanted to see how far I could push myself over my best from last week, just so I could end the day with with at least one thing to feel good about. I moved through each exercise with mechanical precision, concentrating on taking deep, measured breaths. Every inhale drew a new stream of essence through my body, soothing the burn in my muscles and honing my focus. Every exhale brought another surge of strength. It was soothing, almost meditative. The harder I pushed myself, the more the day’s troubles just seemed to fade away.  
  
That sense of tranquility was probably the only reason I didn’t shriek like a banshee when Sophia’s face suddenly appeared in my field of view, wearing the same kind of generic mask as me. I just froze up instead.  
  
“Hey, Sunshine, need a spotter?”  
  
I slowly drew my gaze away from Sophia and over to the bar I was currently holding aloft, which probably weighed more than she did soaking wet, then turned back to her to make sure she got the point. After another few seconds of awkward silence, I racked the bar and sat up.  
  
“No,” I said, “looks like I’m done here for tonight.” I popped the top off my PRT-branded water bottle and started drinking, mostly to stop myself from saying anything I’d regret. I didn’t need to borrow any more trouble from her, not today.  
  
Sophia scoffed.  
  
“Jeeze, shows what I get for offering to help. No need to leave on my account; I’m said I’m not gonna fuck with you anymore, and I keep my word. I’m just here to hit the treadmill, which I can do just fine on my own...unless, that is, you’re up for a little race?”  
  
I almost choked on a gulp of water, and spent the next few minutes coughing and sputtering. A race? What kind of game was she playing? In less than a week, she’d gone from threatening me with death, to dragging me out fighting crime, to whatever high-school shit she had in mind now. I almost preferred the death threats; at least then I knew what she was thinking. At least this was something I could just walk away from.  
  
Except…  
  
Back in Winslow, Sophia had been the school’s big track star. The teachers and students both loved her, because she gave them at least one sport where they could actually win against the bigger, better funded schools, and she’d used the status that afforded her to basically get away with whatever she wanted. She was fast, no question, but now? I was willing to bet that I was faster. And I had wanted to get in some cardio before calling it a night…  
  
“Eh, what the hell,” I said. Sophia gave me one of her patented smug grins before sauntering off towards the line of treadmills at the rear of the gym. Part of me wanted to panic, sure that this was some kind of a trick. Another part just wanted to sit back and appreciate how great her ass looked in bike shorts. With a mental snarl, I shoved both thoughts down as deep as they would go.  
  
Once I’d finished stripping the bar and wiping down the weight bench, I hopped up on the treadmill next to Sophia’s and started jogging to match her warm up pace. The machines were beyond fancy, way better than anything I’d seen in any public gym, and I idly wondered if they were rated to deal with people like Velocity or something.  
  
Sophia turned to me and gave me what looked like an actual human smile. “That’s more like it, Sunshine. How about I give you a few more minutes to loosen up, and then we see who can hit a mile the fastest?”  
  
I returned her expression, though I doubt the smile reached my eyes. “Don’t wait up on my account. I’m ready to go when you are.”  
  
I watched her set her treadmill’s console to time her run, and then followed her example to set my own. We met eyes again, she gave me a brief nod, and with the push of a button we were off.  
  
The hum of the treadmills under us began to rise rapidly in pitch as we accelerated, pressing steadily faster with every passing second. I wasn’t very familiar with the sport, but a full mile had to be too long for a sprint, so I couldn’t afford to burn out early. I was tempted to look over towards Sophia, compare her performance to mine, but I didn’t want her to think I was even the slightest bit nervous. Instead, I just focused on running, and breathing, and the power pulsing inside me, falling into the same kind of meditative cadence as I had with the weights.  
  
A loud beep from my treadmill shook me out of my reverie. Just as soon as that, I’d finished the mile. The timer read 03:12:47, which I would just have to assume was a good time. What was really important was that, as I fell back down to a comfortable jog, Sophia was still running. It took more than another minute for her own treadmill to signal the end of the race.  
  
After giving Sophia a bit of time to catch her breath, I favored her with my best shit-eating grin. The only question now was how to gloat. Just going ‘neener neener’ was way too childish, especially with other people watching, but I didn’t think I could pull off the smugness I’d need to make ‘good race’ sufficiently stinging. Maybe something about how I’d expected better of Winslow’s famous track star?  
  
“Damn, Sunshine, that was fast!” Sophia said, and all my plans of how best to act like a sore winner just shrivelled up and died.  
  
“But you lost?” I said, suddenly on unsteady ground.  
  
“Of course I lost,” she replied, “you’ve got a fucking Mover rating! Did you think I just forgot how bullshit your power is?”  
  
“Then why the hell did you challenge me to a race?!” I had to stop myself from actually yelling my reply. Sophia had gone completely off script, and what was worse, she sounded like she was having fun.  
  
“Wanted to see how fast you could move when you’ve got a reason to show off. Just what the heck was your time, anyways?”  
  
She leaned over to look at my timer, and then just started swearing to herself.  
  
“Beat your best time?” I asked. I was starting to feel like ‘smug’ wasn’t going to work as a battle plan here, but I owed it one last try.  
  
“You beat the fucking world record, Sunshine,” she said, sounding like she was almost laughing. “Christ, I’m thirsty. Five minute break?”  
  
Sophia hopped off her machine, and while I was tempted to keep running just to show her up, that would have been too petty. So instead, I hopped off as well, moved over to the corner with Sophia, and started working on draining the second half of my water. I kept my eyes on Sophia as I drank, waiting for her to make some kind of snide comment or underhanded attack, but she didn’t even seem to be paying that much attention to me.  
  
Finally, I spoke up. “Okay, what the heck is going on with you, Sophia?”  
  
“Shadow Stalker,” she said, pointing up at her mask, “and why the hell are you complaining? I thought you’d be happy I’m not threatening to kill you in your sleep anymore?”  
  
“I’m not happy,” I ground out through gritted teeth, “because I don’t trust you. You torment me for over a year, give every indication that you hate my very existence, as if you’re enraged that you have to breathe the same air as me...and then suddenly you decide to put all that behind us, why? Because we beat up some Nazis together?”  
  
By the end, I had to struggle not to shout at her. Sophia just shrugged.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Shaking with sudden fury, I grabbed a fistful of her track shirt and shoved her into the wall. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”  
  
Sophia laughed, and for maybe the first time since I’d met her, she wasn’t laughing _at_ me.  
  
“I dunno, Sunshine,” she said, unbothered by my sudden outburst, “the shrinks say it could be any number of things. Whatever I have, though, I’m pretty sure you’ve got the same thing yourself.”  
  
I pulled my hand away from her like she’d suddenly turned searing-hot. “Bullshit,” I said, “the kind of shit you did to me, I’d never pull that on someone else.”  
  
“Sure,” she replied, “fine, whatever floats your boat. Fucking with you wasn’t ever more than a hobby, anyways, and I wouldn’t have pulled any of that shit in the first place if I’d thought you had something like this in you.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“You’re angry, Sunshine, and I’d bet two weeks of console duty that the anger never really leaves you. I saw the way you looked at those E88 thugs; you didn’t take them down like that because it was the right thing to do, you hit them because you were furious that a bunch of little shits like them were making trouble in your city. Just like you said, you were pissed that they got to breathe the same air as you.”  
  
My essence flared inside me, yearning for me to turn it against Sophia, but I couldn’t actually slug her in public like this. More importantly, though, hitting her would only prove her right.  
  
“How dare you compare…” I growled, “They’re fucking Nazis! They deserved it!”  
  
“Damn right they did,” Sophia grinned at me. “That’s exactly what I mean! I only ever got on your case because it made Emma happy, and because you were acting so damn pathetic it was insulting. You were barely worth my time, before whatever happened to you in the last two months turned you into one hell of a badass bitch. Think back to how you used to just let us walk right over you and tell me that you’re not at least a little pissed at what a wimp you were. If that little twerp Madison tried pouring juice on your shit now, you’d just put her through a fucking window, and you’d enjoy it too. I respect the hell out of that.”  
  
I wished like hell that Sophia was lying, but every word out of her mouth dripped with twisted sincerity. I wished like hell that she was wrong, but I couldn’t make myself believe it.  
  
“Maybe I would,” I said, “but so what? You don’t seem all that worried that I’ll try to get some payback for everything you did.”  
  
“That’s because, no matter how much you hate me, you hate _them_ more. Nazis, drug pushers, arms dealers, slave traders, gang leaders; you want me to hurt, but you want them fucking _dead_. Just like I do. You get along well enough with the other Wards, but all their talk about avoiding unnecessary violence or not destabilizing the city probably makes you feel sick. It’s like they think this is all some kind of game of cops and robbers.”  
  
“They haven’t said anything like that to me,” I replied, and my voice sounded petulant even to my own ears.  
  
“They will,” Sophia said, “and when they do, just remember that there’s only one other person on the team who understands just how disgusted you feel. Either way, I’m done standing around; I’ve got a run to get back to.”  
  
Just like that, Sophia sauntered back over to the treadmills, as if we’d just finished a perfectly normal human conversation. After a moment’s consideration, I joined her. I still had no idea what to feel about any of this. My only clear emotion was anger, and I didn’t even know who it was aimed at anymore. Hell, I should feel happy about this. I’d been worrying about how I was ever going to get Shadow Stalker on my side, but now she’d all but handed herself to me on a silver platter.  
  
Sure, she was still a monster, but was what I was planning really any better? No, the real question was if that even really mattered to me anymore. I’d given up hope of holding any moral high-ground above my bullies, and I wasn’t going to back down now.  
  
We continued to run in silence, side by side, for at least half an hour before Sophia spoke up again.  
  
“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about Emma yet.”  
  
“Why?” I replied, without looking at her.  
  
“You didn’t hear that her parents sent her to the nuthouse upstate? When she learned you were missing, probably dead, she broke out laughing right at the dinner table. Freaked her mom out real bad.”  
  
“No, that’s not what...” I paused. “...wait, really?”  
  
“Eh, fucked if I know,” Sophia shrugged. “Sounds like something she’d do, at least. They really did send her to the funny farm, though. Made her cut off contact with all of her real friends too. I thought maybe you’d check in with her now that you’re back from the dead and everything, maybe get a little payback?”  
  
It was my turn to shrug. “Well, I was actually trying to ask why you thought I’d even care about Emma? She made it pretty clear that she only saw me as a punching bag, and now that I’m done letting anyone use me like that, I don’t see any point in wasting even one more thought on her.”  
  
Sophia nodded like she understood me perfectly, which made one of us. “That’s fair,” she said, “though it’s a bit of a shame. I bet Ems would really like the new you.”  
  
And didn’t that sound like the kind of thought could haunt me well through the night. Without anything more to say, I turned away from Sophia and continued to run.


	8. Rising 1.6

**March 7th, 2011**  
  
I didn’t trust Arcadia. ‘Too good to be true’ was a bit of a cliche, but it was the best way I could think of to describe Brockton Bay’s most affluent school. As soon as I stepped through the front doors, I was struck by this sudden sense of unreality, like I’d fallen into some kind of incredibly detailed video game. The lobby itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but everything was too bright, too clean, too crisp. I couldn’t believe that a place like this could actually exist without being broken down by the fundamentally abrasive nature of high-school students. .  
  
The hallways were far worse. I couldn’t see any cracks or unpainted streaks of off-white plaster on any of the walls. They were all the same uniform shade of light blue, without discoloured patches to mark the places where gang signs had been hastily painted over. Various plaques and trophies gleamed within glass display cases, as if none of the administrators realized how easy it would be for someone to smash or steal anything of value. I wanted to scream; what idiot would design a school to be so vulnerable? Didn’t they know what teenagers were like!?  
  
Somehow, I managed to find my way to the head office, where one of the vice principals gave me my class schedule, locker number, textbooks, lunch card, and a map of the school. I drifted through the meeting in a haze, nodding along and answering questions with vague politeness or polite vagueness as necessary. After a few minutes more of signing paperwork and exchanging vacant pleasantries, she finally sent me on my way. I probably should have paid more attention, but my focus was occupied elsewhere, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
  
I didn’t have to wait long. I was trying to find my way to my first class, nose half-buried in my map, when I heard a cry of pain from somewhere nearby, along with the all-too-familiar sound of someone being bodily shoved against a locker. Without thinking, I dropped the map and started running towards the source of the noise. Turning a corner, I saw a scene right out of Winslow. Not ten feet from me, a tall blonde girl had forced a skinny-looking boy against a row of lockers, pressing her forearm into his windpipe. Judging by the pained expression on his face, she wasn’t being gentle about it. The girl just looked furious, like she wanted to rip the guy’s head off. A gaggle of bystanders formed a rough circle around them, clearly not interested in doing anything beyond watching the upcoming violence.  
  
For just a second, I felt like I was back in my old school. It was all too easy to see Sophia in place of the tall girl, and to see myself in place of the victim. I’d been in that situation a hundred times. I’d expected to find bullies, even in Arcadia, and mentally prepared myself to keep my cool. What I hadn’t thought to prepare for were the people standing around, watching this happen, and doing nothing. I felt an almost animalistic growl rising from deep within me, and got ready to do something stupid.  
  
“Let him go!” I yelled. My voice echoed through the hall, stilling the chattering crowd to tense silence.  
  
The girl turned to me, and yelled back. “Back off, bitch! This is none of your business!” I couldn’t help but think that she looked strangely familiar.  
  
I stepped forward, and suddenly a wave of fear hit me like a physical force, sending electric tremors through my limbs and setting my heart to jackhammering. It was all I could do not to fall to my knees like several of the closest onlookers were doing. The paralyzing terror stopped me for maybe three or four seconds before my rage surged twice as hot and drowned it out. I was too angry to feel afraid of anything, too angry to even wonder where the fear was coming from. I would not allow this to go on.  
  
The girl, by this point, had turned back to her victim. “I just need to teach this asshole a little lesson about-”  
  
Her words cut off as I grabbed her by the shoulders and tore her away from her victim, before shoving her towards the opposite wall.  
  
“I don’t care about your reasons,” I snarled, “I’m not going to let you hurt anyone!”  
  
The girl quickly caught her balance, and glared at me. “I told you this was none of your business,” she ground out the words like each one pained her. “Why can’t you just stay out of things that don’t involve you?”  
  
“Because,” I said, shifting into a ready stance, “Bullies like you just piss me off!”  
  
The girl contorted into a snarl of anger. “I am not,” she spat out, “a bully!”  
  
With the last word, she shoved me. I was braced for a strong push, but what hit me felt more like a freight train. I practically flew backwards, smashing into a locker hard enough to leave a giant dent in the door. Pain blossomed through me, spreading out from my back to the tip of every finger and toe, and I knew that it was only my Brute power that kept me standing.  
  
I shifted my focus back to my attacker, and saw that she was now hovering about a foot above the ground. The realization hit me with almost as much force as her shove; I’d just picked a fight with Glory Girl. No wonder she looked so familiar. Did every high school in the city have its own teenaged cape bully? More worryingly, didn’t the other Wards go to school here? Why the hell would they let Glory Girl get away with this shit?  
  
“Damnit,” Glory Girl hissed, “look what you made me do! Why couldn’t you just mind your own business?”  
  
I pulled myself out of the Taylor-shaped indentation in the locker and made a show of rolling my shoulders. It hurt, but I didn’t let the pain show.  
  
“Someone has to stand up for people,” I said, “especially when the so-called hero who should be protecting them is the one they actually need protection from!”  
  
Glory Girl’s face went bright red, though I couldn’t say whether it was from rage or embarrassment. She floated towards me, her aura of terror still just barely noticeable beneath the rage that filled me.  
  
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” she yelled, clenching both her hands into fists. “Now back off before I-”  
  
I punched Glory Girl right in the face. Somehow, I remembered not to give myself away by using my Striker power, even as I forgot that Glory Girl was supposed to be invincible. My hand sang with pain from the impact, like I’d just punched a brick wall. No, wait, I’d done that before, and this was worse. Glory Girl’s stupid face didn’t have a single mark on it, but she still fell to the ground, landing on her rear with a look of total shock on her face. The crowd of onlookers seemed just as stunned.  
  
I flapped my aching hand in the air, trying to coax some blood back into it while wincing from the pain. Glory Girl just blinked at me. Another student rushed to her side, a mousy-looking brunette who I hadn’t noticed until now. Panacea?  
  
“Please, just give up,” I said, “I really, really don’t want to have to do that again, but I will if you force me to.”  
  
Both girls stared up at me, Glory Girl with a look of shock turning back to rage, her sister with an almost apologetic wince. Before anyone else could speak, though, a teacher managed to maneuver through the press of the crowd.  
  
“That’s quite enough!” He didn’t exactly yell, but he certainly wasn’t calm. “Victoria Dallon, you’re following me to the Principal’s office right this second. You too!”  
  
He pointed at me, and I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths so I didn’t yell at him too. I’d expected someone to show up, though not quite so soon. It would have taken twice as long for anyone to break up a fight at Winslow, if they didn’t just ignore it. That made this teacher the first thing I’d seen about the school that actually impressed me. Shoulders sagging in resignation, I followed him back to the main office.  
  
\---  
  
“I’m disappointed in you, Miss Dallon.”  
  
Megan Best, Principle of Arcadia High, did not look like a person who should be capable of staring down Glory Girl, and yet the evidence was right here in front of me. She was, at most, 5’2, looking almost pixie-ish despite being at least 40 years of age and wearing a sharply cut suit. Her short, somewhat spiked-up haircut struck me as remarkably butch, but it worked for her. Most remarkably, she didn’t appear to be angry, just, as she said, incredibly disappointed.  
  
“You’re well aware that using your powers on other students like this is unacceptable. I know that you know this, because I explained it to you in detail only a week ago, and I can’t believe that a bright student such as yourself could be quite as forgetful as that.”  
  
Glory Girl pouted. “I wasn’t going to actually hurt him. I just wanted to scare him a bit, after he was such a…”  
  
“Your sister filled me in on exactly what started the situation, Victoria, and rest assured we are dealing with Mr. French as well.” The Principle paused to briefly rub her temples, as if staving off a headache. “For what it’s worth, I do in fact believe that you intended no real damage, at least at first. Your problem is that you tried to take matters into your own hands at all, rather than guiding your sister away from the confrontation and contacting a teacher.”  
  
“You didn’t hear what he called her!” Glory Girl nearly shouted, and I suddenly felt her fear aura wash over me once again. The Principal merely raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Miss Dallon, you’re not helping your case by losing control of your aura like this. From anyone else, shoving a student against a locker and making threats would still be an unacceptable violation of the school’s policy on violence and bullying. From you, however, it could also be interpreted as ‘Assault with a Parahuman Power’, a felony charge you must certainly be familiar with.”  
  
Glory Girl paled. “I didnt...I wasn’t…”  
  
“Fortunately for you,” the Principal continued, “no one is likely to be pressing charges in this case. The young man was quite out of line, and while that in no way justifies your response, it has served to deter him from seeking legal recourse. Miss Hebert here has a significantly stronger case against you, but she’s indicated that she would prefer to avoid involving lawyers.”  
  
Principal Best gestured to me, and I shook my head. “Not exactly,” I said, and felt gratified to see Glory Girl’s eyes widen in shock. “I said that I wasn’t interested in pressing charges so long Glory Girl got more than just a slap on the wrist.”  
  
The Principal gave me a level look, not judgemental, but not comforting either. “Miss Dallon or Victoria, please, not ‘Glory Girl.’ We do not refer to students by cape names in this school. As for punishment, you can be certain I intend more than just ‘a slap on the wrist.’ For violation of the school’s code of conduct, and for damaging school property, Miss Dallon will be receiving two weeks of suspension, followed by an additional month of after-school detention upon her return. She will also spend the rest of this year on academic probation, with a very real possibility of expulsion should she commit another violation of similar seriousness.”  
  
“You can’t suspend me!” Glory Girl almost shrieked, “Mom will ground me for months! I won’t be able to go on patrol!”  
  
“Unfortunately, Miss Dallon,” the Principal’s voice turned cold, “you used up the last of my sympathy with last week’s little incident. I respect what you do, but I also respect the rest of your family, and I’m certain that they would be just as concerned with your behavior today as I am. If either of your parents feel this punishment is unfair, they’re welcome to schedule an appointment to discuss it with me.”  
  
Part of me wanted to sigh with relief at the school passing my little test, part of me wanted to gloat at Glory Girl’s misfortune, and a third, much smaller part of me wanted to apologize to her. She seemed genuinely distressed at the thought of being unable to fight crime, and I could sympathize with her in that sense.  
  
That sympathetic part of me quietly died when Glory Girl turned to face me and said, “It wouldn’t have even been a problem if she hadn’t gotten involved!”  
  
“And I accept whatever punishment you feel is appropriate, ma’am,” I said. I would, too, just so long as she didn’t suddenly pull a Blackwell on me and punish me just as harshly for ‘causing trouble.’ The principal gave me a look that suggested we’d have plenty of words about that soon enough, before turning her attention back to Glory Girl.  
  
“Today was not a simple slip, Miss Dallon, it was yet more evidence of a serious behavioral problem. You should feel lucky that no one else has confronted you like this before now, if this is how you react to it. Miss Hebert’s actions were far from appropriate, but she has, at present, more excuse for them than you. There are extenuating circumstances involved here, though they are not mine to explain.”  
  
“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Glory Girl muttered. I clenched my hands into fists by my sides, despite the pain it caused.  
  
“Miss Dallon, you are dismissed,” the Principal said, “please leave before you do something to warrant further punishment. I’ll be calling your parents this evening to report on today’s events; I suggest you take the chance to explain yourself before then.”  
  
Glory Girl didn’t stand so much as levitate out of her chair, before floating out of the Principal’s office. It took all my willpower not to sag in relief as her aura slipped away with her. The Principal only relaxed her shoulders slightly, and my respect for her rose another notch.  
  
When she next spoke, her voice seemed much softer than before, and more tired. “I would appreciate it, Taylor,, if you would try not to hold Miss Dallon’s actions today against her. I honestly believe the two of you could have already become the very best of friends by now if you’d met under different circumstances.”  
  
“I doubt that, ma’am,” I replied, trying not to sound too unkind. “I’ve only known her for less than an hour, but she made a pretty bad impression...into some poor student’s locker.”  
  
“You’ve just seen her at her worst,” the Principal said, gazing out the door as if slightly lost in thought. “At her best, she’s relentlessly compassionate, with a remarkable willingness to fight against injustice wherever she sees it. Quite similar to you, if what the PRT has told me is accurate. I’d hoped that you could be a good influence on her, or vice versa. I still do, to be honest.”  
  
She sighed, then focused her attention back fully on me.  
  
“Given what I’ve read of the conditions at Winslow, your actions today make a great deal of sense. At your old school, they might even have been justified. It’s all too easy for me to see how a student might leave that environment with something close to PTSD, especially with the exceptional circumstances you in particular seem to have suffered through.”  
  
I stiffened. “Are you saying that I have...post traumatic stress disorder? From Winslow?”  
  
“No,” she replied, “just that it would be entirely understandable if you did. I actually do have a master’s degree in psychology, but I cannot serve as your therapist, nor you as my patient. That said, I worked as a counselor with the PRT for several years before going into education. I know all too well how deficient they can be in seeing to their Wards’ mental health. For what it’s worth, I suggest you avail yourself of whatever meagre psychological resources they offer.”  
  
I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I just nodded.  
  
Taking it as her cue to continue, Principal Best went on, “I won’t be suspending you today, Taylor, nor will I be giving you detention. You’ve missed quite enough school this year already, and I don’t want to delay your integration here any longer if I can help it. I’ll report the incident to your PRT handler as required, but that’s all. I am sympathetic to your situation, but I can’t allow this kind of violence in my school, so please take this as your one warning. Arcadia is not Winslow, and bullying is not tolerated here. If you ever see a situation like that again, I expect you to confine your heroism to the act of alerting a teacher, who will absolutely act to discipline the perpetrator..”  
  
I finally found my voice, and, sensing that the meeting was nearly over, decided to go with honesty.  
  
“I’ll do my best, ma’am. That’s the most I can promise.”  
  
It was a good thing she didn’t know what happened the last time I’d made that promise.  
  
\--  
  
  
As I stepped out of the Principal’s office, I worried that Glory Girl might be waiting to ambush me. Instead, I ran into her sister, who practically jumped at my arrival.  
  
“Sorry,” I said, “but if you’re here to tell me about how none of this was really your sister’s fault, you can save the speech. I’ll consider exchanging apologies with her once she’s back from her suspension.”  
  
Panacea frowned at me, and let out a huff of indignation. “I don’t need you to tell me that Vicky’s an idiot sometimes,” she said, “I live with her; I get to see it every day. She’ll apologize on her own once she cools down. I just wanted to offer to heal your hand for you. Punching Vicky’s forcefield like that had to hurt.”  
  
“Oh,” I said, caught flat-footed by her offer. I took a second to actually consider the person in front of me. She was shorter than her sister, much closer to average height, with curly brown hair that I knew (from experience) must be a challenge to wrangle each morning. I would call her more ‘cute’ than ‘beautiful,’ especially with the spray of dark freckles across her face that I definitely didn’t have a weakness for, shut up, and big dark eyes that looked more tired than anything.  
  
 _Try to be nice to her sister,_ my insight power informed me, _ but don’t try to pretend she’s perfect either. Engage with her on interests that don’t involve cape stuff. Let her help you in ways that don’t involve her power. Offer her praise, even for little things, so long as I don’t go overboard with it._ I felt briefly frustrated that I’d invoked the power without thinking. I was trying not to rely too much on it, since the information it provided was obviously no guarantee against stupidity on my part. Case in point, the odd picture it painted here didn’t mean that it was wrong, just that I didn’t know how to interpret the information it gave me.  
  
“Oh, uh, thanks,” I mumbled, remembering that I should probably say something. “I appreciate the offer, really, but I’m fine. Heberts are made out of tougher stuff than we look like.”  
  
She looked up at me with guarded surprise. “Are you sure? I’ve seen people break their fingers trying to slug her. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, especially since you already look plenty tough to me.”  
  
I held up the hand in question and wiggled my fingers in demonstration. The pain was already fading, which made it easier not to wince.  
  
“See? Totally fine,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Besides, you shouldn’t have to run around cleaning up your sister’s messes for her. You do so much good already, you need to leave a little for the rest of us to handle.”  
  
She flinched at my comment, even though I’d intended it to cheer her up. Goddamnit, power.  
  
“If you say so,” she said, turning her gaze towards the floor, “but I really don’t mind. This one really was my fault, anyways. Zeke was only yelling at me because I killed his father. I can’t blame him for that... ”  
  
I wanted to ask her what the hell she meant by that, but she was already rushing off before I could make a sound. Panacea had just admitted to killing someone. That couldn’t just mean what it sounded like, could it? I shook my head. What the hell was up with the Dallon family, that both their children were this messed up? With a sigh, I hefted my backpack and started looking for my second period class. If only I could remember where the heck my map had gone…  
  
\---  
  
I managed to arrive to my second class just barely in time, and from there I found someone who could guide me to my third. Soon enough, it was time for lunch. I felt a brief surge of panic when the bell rang and I realized I didn’t know any good places to hide from the trio, before reality caught up with me. Even so, I walked into the cafeteria feeling shakier than I had in months.  
  
I took a second to look around for an empty spot, only to notice two girls energetically waving me over to their table. I walked over to meet them, feeling cautious but doing my best to smile anyway. Once I got closer, I saw they were sitting across from Dennis and another guy I didn’t recognize. We were both supposed to pretend that we’d never really met each other before, so I did my best not to show that I recognized him.  
  
“Hey, new girl!” one of the wavers called out to me. She was short and slender, barely above five feet, but her long purple-dyed hair (showing blonde at the roots) and flamboyant cat-eye glasses made her stand out from the crowd. “Sit with us!”  
  
I stopped a few feet from their table, suddenly self conscious. The girl’s smile seemed earnest enough, but this could still be some kind of a trick. I’d fallen prey to the “fake new friend” routine too many times not to be wary about it. Then again, I couldn’t really imagine Dennis hanging out with anyone who would pull that kind of malicious stunt. Stupid and embarassisng pranks, absolutely, but not anything malicious.  
  
The girl’s voice snapped me out of my brief reverie. “C’mon, sit down!” she said, adopting an over-the-top pleading tone. “Don’t make me use peer pressure on you!”  
  
The other girl sitting next to her, tall and athletic looking with short-cut red hair, failed to suppress a snort of laughter, and suddenly the tension in me just broke. Everyone else at the table was smiling at me, even if some of them were rolling their eyes. Shrugging off my backpack, I sat down across from her.  
  
“Oh no, anything but peer pressure!” I deadpanned, which set everyone chuckling.  
  
The shorter girl extended her hand across the table. “I’m Thea,” she said, as we shook hands.  
  
She started pointing at each of the others in turn,“This is Jess,” she gestured to the tall redhead, “Dennis,” she pointed at him, “and Arthur.” The other boy was shorter than average but powerfully built, with close-cut black hair and darker skin that suggested an Indian or middle-eastern heritage.  
  
“Taylor,” I said, for what felt like the five-hundredth time today. “Pleased to meet all of you, though I’m still a little confused…”  
  
“Ah,” Thea nodded, “Right, here’s the pitch: we’re basically Arcadia’s unofficial welcoming committee. We try to bring in any new arrivals who show up mid-term, bring them up to speed on school culture, find a place for them in some of the school clubs, whatever we can do to help. Normally, we’d have to compete with our school’s very own one-woman cheer squad for the chance to bring you onboard, but it looks like she’s out of school for the day.”  
  
I gave the others a nervous grin. “Yeah, that’s, uh, actually kind of my fault. Sorry.”  
  
Thea and the others looked at me quizzically for a moment, before Jess spoke up.  
  
“Were you the one who…?” she said, and I noticed she had a faint accent, though I couldn’t place it.  
  
When she hesitated to continue, Arthur said “beat up Glory Girl?” at the same time that Thea piped up with “Pissed off Vicky and got punched through a locker?”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” I said, half-mumbling, “Except no, she just punched me into a locker, not through it, and I didn’t beat her up or anything. I threw exactly one punch, and I’m pretty sure it hurt me more than it hurt her. How the hell did you hear about this already?”  
  
“The grapevine,” Dennis said, wiggling his fingers to indicate an air of the mysterious and spooky. “It knows all, it sees all, and it didn’t have any other juicy gossip to pass around today. Sorry, Taylor, but pretty much the whole school knows about your little scuffle.”  
  
I sighed. “Just great. What else are they saying about me? Do I even want to hear it?”  
  
Jess shrugged her shoulders apologetically and gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad as all that, really. Most have been saying that Vicky was right furious with some poor soul, and you stepped in to defend him. You’ve won no small measure of respect from it.”  
  
I still couldn’t place her accent, exactly. Maybe Scottish or Irish? Then again, I might just be making assumptions based on her hair color.  
  
“Not everyone’s spreading the same story, though,” Thea added in. “If you listen to Vicky’s fan club tell it, you tried to pick a fight with her for no good reason, then went whining to the teacher when she cleaned your clock.”  
  
“Great,” I said, slumping further over the table. Once again, it was my word against the popular students. At least this time I’d done something to actually earn their scorn besides drawing breath in their presence.  
  
“It probably won’t last,” Jess said. “They all follow Vicky’s lead, and she’s not one to hold grudges. She doesn’t have the attention span for it.”  
  
The others gave a good natured laugh at that, and I relaxed. Slightly.  
  
“I didn’t know she was Glory Girl,” I said, “or anyone important at all. I just saw a bully about to beat the stuffing out this terrified kid, and I didn’t want to let him get hurt. By the time I figured out who she was, I was too angry to back down, even after she shoved me at a locker hard enough to leave a dent.”  
  
“A dent in the locker, or a dent in you?” Dennis asked, giving me one of his ‘what can you do but laugh?’ smiles.  
  
My reply was deadpan. “Yes.” The others winced, but still chuckled at the joke.  
  
“I was pretty sure she was going to punch me into meat paste after that,” I continued, “but better she focus her anger on me instead of the guy who was basically defenseless.”  
  
Arthur was the next person to speak up. “I think that was very brave of you, Taylor. You must have the soul of a true warrior, to stare down the Blonde Death without blinking. Are you looking to join any after-school clubs? I would love the opportunity to challenge you upon the field of honor.”  
  
“I, uh,” I stammered, before Jess jumped in to save me.  
  
“Don’t mind Arthur,” she said, reaching over to flick his ear, “he thinks he’s a viking or something. He’s talking about the school wrestling team.”  
  
“You only laugh at me because you hate fun and imagination,” Arthur replied, grinning “and because you want to steal her for your soccer team.” His tone made it clear that this was just friendly banter between the two, not any kind of conflict. I could see why Dennis hung out with these people.  
  
“Sorry,” I said, “but I’m pretty busy after school most days. I’m not even that big a fan of sports in the first place, anyways.”  
  
“Really?” Thea asked, “because I’ve spent the last couple minutes looking for a polite way to ask how you smuggled those guns into school.”  
  
“Guns?” I asked, a spike of sudden panic shooting through me. Did they assume that everyone at Winslow was in a gang? “I didn’t, I wouldn’t bring any-”  
  
Thea laughed at my obvious shock, then pulled back her sleeve to theatrically flex a non-existent bicep.  
  
“Y’know, ‘guns’,” she said, “because holy shit, girl, you’re ripped. If you’re not some kind of jock like those two, how the heck did you get so buff?”  
  
I blushed at her comment, fighting the urge to cross my arms and fold myself up. She very clearly meant it as a compliment, and I knew that I had nothing to be ashamed of. Plus, with the short-sleeved shirt I was wearing, crossing my arms would only make it look like I was showing off. Instead, I just let myself chuckle along with everyone else, though I noticed that Jess was blushing about as bright red as I have must been. Probably self-conscious, worried that being in shape made her less feminine. I could sympathize.  
  
“Well, I do a lot of martial arts,” I said, “but that’s for self-defense, not sport. Useful for days like today, though.”  
  
“So what you’re telling me,” Dennis said with a grin, “is that the newest arrival at our school is a certified badass?”  
  
I laughed, and not just because of the way he put up his fists in an exaggerated pugilist’s stance. He’d called me the same thing a couple of days ago, and it had left me so embarrassed that I lost the ability to speak for almost ten minutes. After I calmed down, though, I’d joined the rest of the Wards in laughing about it. I’d I figured he was joining in the playful teasing here to help bring me into the group, while throwing easy jibes I already knew how to deal with.  
  
“If you say so,” I said, smiling. “Honestly, I’m really just a huge nerd who happens to know how to throw a punch. It’s just that, well...”  
  
I let my voice trail off, considering how much I wanted to share. I wasn’t just making friends, here, I was establishing a cover identity. I finally decided on a story that had about as much truth to it as I could reveal without giving myself away.  
  
“So, I used to go to school at Winslow,” I said, pausing while the others grimaced, “Yeah, it was every bit as bad as you’ve heard, maybe worse. The gangs basically had the run of the school, and the staff only did the bare minimum to keep things orderly. The place was full of bullies, but they weren’t even the worst part. The worst part was how everyone else just stood by and let it happen.”  
  
I felt my face twist into a scowl, and clenched a fist under the table to try and keep my anger at bay. Winslow was basically just a microcosm of Brockton Bay as a whole, with Lung and Kaiser and Skidmark as the biggest bullies around.  
  
“Something terrible...happened to me, a while ago, and it woke me up.” I saw Dennis mostly suppress a wince. He’s probably guessed that I was referring to my trigger. “I never wanted to be one of those people who just watched instead of helping. If I was going to defend anyone else, though, I needed to be able to defend myself, and so bam, new hobby.”  
  
“That explains what happened with Vicky, then,” Thea said, smiling sympathetically. The others nodded along, except for Jess, who just stared down at her tray, her face flushed about as red as a person could get. Weird.  
  
“It’s a good thing I got transferred out of there,” I said, “or else I’d have probably tried to fight half the school by now.”  
  
The others laughed, Arthur gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder, and the conversation organically drifted towards more pleasant topics. Eventually, I remembered that I’d actually come to the cafeteria intending to eat something, and I barely managed to finish my sandwich before the bell rang. We joked about how an hour was clearly too short for a proper lunch, and went our separate ways.  
  
The rest of the school day was mostly just boring, but my good mood carried me through it without a frown. I still chafed at the idea of being stuck in school for most of each week, but as long as I had people to laugh with, I’d probably survive.  
  
\---  
  
Later that evening, I found myself sprawled out across one of the couches in the Wards’ common room, getting a head start on my readings for english lit. Dennis, Chris, and Dean had commandeered the kitchen table to play some kind of board game. They’d offered me the chance to join in, but I had declined, and with the way Dennis kept grinning while saying that he had wood for sheep, I figured I’d made the right call.  
  
I had a hard time focusing on my readings, though. My mind kept drifting back to the morning, and specifically what Panacea had told me. When Dean stood up to get a soda from the fridge, I put my book down and moved to talk with him.  
  
“Hey,” I said, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about-”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, giving me a bit of a pained smile. “Vicky told me what happened, and then Amy told me what actually happened. I don’t blame you, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t either.”  
  
“Still,” I said, “I can’t help but feel bad about punching your girlfriend in the face, even if she is invulnerable.”  
  
Dean winced. “She’s not, uh, my girlfriend. Presently. I tried to get her to see your point of view, and she didn’t take it that well. Honestly, it’s the angriest I’ve seen her in a while; most people know better than to mess with her sister.”  
  
I mentally added another tick to Glory Girl’s ‘actually a huge bitch’ tally. Dean and I weren’t the closest, but I didn’t like the idea of anyone treating one of my friends like that.  
  
“Speaking of,” I said, “she told me that the whole thing started because she killed someone. That can’t be right, can it?”  
  
Dean sighed. “She’s being overdramatic, and way too hard on herself. Zeke’s dad died last Friday, in the middle of what was supposed to be a perfectly routine operation. Congenital heart defect, or something like that. Zeke showed up this morning and started yelling at Amy, blaming her for not healing his dad before the surgery, even though he was considered a ‘least concern’ case and she’d already worn herself healing dozens of people that day. I didn’t realize she’d taken it to heart so much.”  
  
I nodded, and reluctantly added a tick to Glory Girl’s tally under the “not actually a huge bitch” column.  
  
Our conversation abruptly ended when both of our phones buzzed at the same moment. I pulled mine out and saw that I had a text from Sophia, which was odd, because she was manning the console just in the other room. All the message said was “Channel 17.”  
  
I was lost, but the others apparently knew at least something of what was going on. Chris hopped up from his chair and rushed to grab the TV remote, while the other two walked over to get a better view of the screen. Chris fiddled with the remote for a second, and soon we were all looking at what appeared to be a local news station.  
  
“-smaster still appears to be fighting, but there’s been no sign of Vista since the villain appeared on the scene.” The news anchor stood in a spot I recognized as close to the docks. Behind her, at some distance, I could clearly see great plumes of smoke and flame reaching up across the night sky.  
  
“We’re now going live to watch the battle from our eye-in-the-sky news chopper. Be advised, the following footage may contain disturbing images not suitable for sensitive viewers.”  
  
The screen cut to a grainy top-down view of the burning area, and the light from the flames was just barely bright enough for me to make out the striking blue-armored form of Armsmaster. He seemed to be holding his halberd almost like a rifle, firing pulses of reddish light into one of the flaming buildings. A few seconds later, something huge and metallic crashed out from the same building, striking Armsmaster with a contemptuous backhand so powerful that it sent him flying.  
  
Lung.  
  
Armsmaster managed to twist himself around in mid air, before firing a grappling hook from his halberd and letting it haul him onto a nearby rooftop. Lung started hurling fireballs at him, the flames so bright that they briefly washed out the picture. The dragon-cape looked like he was already at least half-again as tall as Armsmaster, and I knew that he wouldn’t stop growing bigger and stronger until the fight was over. I stared intently at the screen, looking for the faint glimpses of gleaming armor or silvery scales that managed to briefly shine through the growing smokescreen.  
  
I was startled out of my trance by a sudden hard crack of noise. The others all turned to look at me, and after a second, I realized that I’d been squeezing the back of the couch so hard that part of it had shattered. I gently removed my hand from the mess of broken cloth and plastic, crossing my arms in front of me so I wouldn’t accidentally destroy anything else.  
  
I needn’t have worried, though. The rest of the fight was almost anti-climactic. Armsmaster kept his distance from Lung for another few minutes until Dauntless arrived on the scene, followed by Battery. The fight rapidly turned against the villain, especially thanks to the bolts of lightning that Dauntless hurled from his Arclance. Lung started to give ground, but before the Protectorate capes could press their advantage, Oni Lee teleported in, dropping smoke grenades by the dozens to cover Lung’s escape. Armsmaster and Battery tried to pursue, following Lung’s fiery path, except it turned out to be Oni Lee using some kind of incendiaries to create a false trail. By the time the heroes figured out the ruse, both villains had disappeared into the night.  
  
I throttled the sudden urge to punch something, anything. God DAMN it, they’d almost had him! Maybe if they’d sent more capes, if Dauntless had searched from the air instead of staying behind to secure the battleground…  
  
The TV flicked off, and I stared in barely-concealed shock as the other Wards just went back to their board game, picking up where they had left off with some argument about crossroads. It was Dean who eventually noticed my expression.  
  
“Don’t worry, Taylor, everything’s alright,” he said, in a calm and soothing voice. It was a shame I didn’t want to be soothed right at that moment.  
  
“Alright!?” I choked out, forcing the word out like I was pulling a tooth.  
  
“Missy’s fine,” he said, stepping away from the game towards where I sat. “I got a text from her a few minutes ago, Armsmaster sent her away as soon as he spotted Lung. She’ll be here in five, maybe ten.”  
  
Missy. Vista. I’d forgotten that the news anchor had mentioned her vanishing near the beginning of the fight. Dean thought I was worrying about her, like a real teammate should. He reached out a hand to comfort me, but I jerked away from him and stood up from the couch. Dean frowned, but give me my distance.  
  
“Does stuff like this happen often?” I asked, noticing the worried expressions I was suddenly getting from the other Wards.  
  
“Cape fights?” Dennis said, sounding a bit confused. “Uh, yeah. It’s sorta part of the job description, you know?”  
  
“No, I mean cape fights like that,” I said, “where the two sides show up and fight each other for a bit, cause a bit of property damage, and then both just...go home?”  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that,” Chris said, shrugging. “It’s not like they didn’t try to stop Lung from escaping, after all, and most other villains cause a lot less collateral damage. Otherwise, it’s not unusual.”  
  
“Are you serious?” I shot back. “I thought we were supposed to catch villains, not just give ‘em a bit of a hard time!”  
  
“I understand why you’re frustrated, Taylor,” Dean said. “Yes, we want to catch villains like Lung, send them to jail or the Birdcage, but not if it means blowing up half the city in the process. Most cape fights that don’t end in a clear, early win for one side tend to peter out instead, because nobody wants to escalate things too far. That doesn’t mean that we stop trying, just that we have to think of the bigger picture.”  
  
“Right,” I growled out, “perspective.” I pushed my anger deep, deep down, imagining it as a roiling ball of magma burning deep in my gut. I had to think of my own bigger picture, which meant being careful with how I acted in front of the other Wards. Passionate was fine, but I couldn’t afford for them to see me as unhinged. I could force myself to remain calm for now; the anger would still be there when I needed it.  
  
I sighed, and let my shoulders slump a bit. “Sorry, guys. Blowing up at you won’t fix anything. Being a Ward is just...a lot different than I expected it to be. I’ve still got a lot to get used to.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, a sunny smile back on his face. “We’ve all been where you are now, after all. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that we’re actually making a difference, especially when you’re stuck in the base training all day, but you’ll get your shot soon.”  
  
“Besides,” Chris added, “you’ve already made a difference on your own. I don’t care what Miss Piggy says; there are two people out there in Brockton Bay who probably wouldn’t be alive if not for you. That has to count for something.”  
  
“Plus,” Dennis chimed in, “just having you around on base has been doing wonders for Missy’s mood, pushing back the day that she finally gets tired of all the boys’ shit and murders us all in our sleep. I, for one, am grateful beyond words for these extra years of life you have bought me.”  
  
“That’s assuming Taylor doesn’t get tired of all your shit herself,” a new voice spoke from near the entrance.  
  
“Missy!” Chris all but shouted, “welcome back! Glad to see you weren’t eaten by a dragon!”  
  
Missy kicked her costume’s boots off near the entrance. Space in the room seemed to twist and contort in that way that always made my eyes itch, until she was suddenly standing right next to one of the empty couches, which she promptly fell backwards into.  
  
“What, like you think I’d let Lung lay a finger on me?” she said. “I wish Armsie had let me stay and fight. I bet I could’ve kept him from running off like that.”  
  
“I was thinking the same thing, actually,” I chuckled. “He really doesn’t give you enough credit.”  
  
Without sitting up or opening her eyes, Missy lifted an arm to point roughly in my direction. “This is why Taylor is my new favorite Ward.”  
  
“I thought that was because she pretended not to notice you taking another helping of her apple cobbler yesterday?” Dennis joked.  
  
“And that’s why you’ll always be my least favorite Ward, Dennis,” she shot back. “Even Sophia knows not to tease a growing girl about her appetite.”  
  
I yawned, stretched, and started walking towards my room. “It’s been a night, everyone,” I said. “Can’t stay up ‘till all hours anymore, not now that I have to go to school like the rest of you poor mortals.”  
  
I gave a short wave as I walked away from the chorus of ‘goodnight’ and ‘sleep well’ and retreated back to my room.  
  
\---  
  
I really was tired, but I planned to stay up at least another hour just thinking things through. I pulled out one of the many notebooks I’d squirreled away amongst my belongings and started writing down the day’s events. Mom had been a big believer in the power of writing out your own feelings to make sense of them, and I figured it couldn’t hurt for me to try.  
  
Tonight had shown me just how easily I’d fallen into the pleasant routine of life as a Ward. I had food, clothing, a place to stay, and more than enough money for reasonable luxuries. More importantly, I had friends now, both here and at school. The other Wards had been nothing but supportive; even Sophia, in her own weird way, seemed to want to look out for me. I still hated her guts, but I could probably live alongside her without either of us ending up dead for it.  
  
Ever since I arrived here, it had become harder and harder to keep my original goal in mind. Hell, I only ever thought about it as just ‘the plan,’ as if even in my own head I was hesitant to admit that I aimed to murder a villain in cold blood. I still wanted him dead, still longed to see him die by my own hands, and to remove every trace of his accursed gang from my city. The idea of giving up on revenge still felt so much like betraying my dad that it made my stomach turn. So why was I doing my best to keep it all out of my thoughts?  
  
I paused in my writing, and paged back through my journal. While I’d been lost in thought, my hands had filled a half-dozen of the book’s small pages with descriptions of all the people I’d eaten lunch with today, plus a few quotes of the nicer things the other Wards had said to me. It wasn’t good writing, my obvious distraction showing through in massive run-on sentences and non-sequiturs, but it nonetheless gave me the answer I was looking for. I was afraid of my plan because now I had something to lose.  
  
Before joining the Wards, I’d planned for every possible problem I could think of, but I’d missed the possibility that I might actually be happy here. Dennis was fun to be around, Chris was always doing his best to keep my spirits up, Dean never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was a part of the team, Missy was already starting to become the little sister I’d never had, Carlos just wanted to do the best he could for all of us, and Sophia, well, I tolerated Sophia, which was more than I ever thought I’d be able to say.  
  
I cared about them. More dangerously, I cared what they thought of me. It had been easy to decide to manipulate the Wards team, back when my anger was still fresh and I had nothing to do but plan and prepare, but now that I could actually imagine the hurt on their faces? I knew that forgetting about Lung was the right thing to do, and for once I believed that I could actually do it. All I had to do was stand up, walk back out to the common room, and tell one of the other wards about my plan. They’d tell Piggot, who would make sure I wasn’t given the opportunity to pursue my idiotic drive for vengeance.  
  
I didn’t stand up. This wasn’t over.  
  
I had to move faster, before I lost my will entirely. My mistake with Sophia had cost me the chance at getting the training I needed for at least another month. I couldn’t afford another screw up like that, or another outburst like today. I had to do better. I had to be perfect.  
  
In the meantime, while I waited for my shot against Lung, I’d throw myself into being a hero. Some part of me still believed in those ideals, after all, and if indulging it would shut my conscience up, all the better. I would do good, right wrongs, protect the innocent, so that when the time for my revenge actually arrived, nobody could say I didn’t earn it.  
  
One thing had to change, though. I hated thinking of myself as a spy in the Wards, hated feeling like I was here to manipulate them. Thinking like that, how long until I turned into another Sophia, full of rage and contempt against anyone who wasn’t as hardened and vicious as me? Hell, I’d just have to tell at least some of them, as soon as I was confident that they wouldn’t just rat me out to Piggot. I would still welcome their help, if they were willing, but I wouldn’t be using them as weapons. If that meant that I had to face Lung alone, so be it.  
  
I found myself actually smiling as I hid my journal away and prepared to crawl into bed. My essence seemed to shine brighter from within me, almost as if it approved of my plan. It was stupid, foolhardy, and likely to get me killed, but somehow I preferred all that to being dishonest. I’d put an end to Lung, but I wouldn’t let it be the end of my life as a hero. Maybe I’d go on to clean out Kaiser, and Skidmark, and even Coil if he really existed. In that moment, I felt like I could do almost anything.  
  
I was still smiling when sleep claimed me, and carried me to a place far, far away. I dreamed of monsters and magic, war and love, and the city, _my_ city, shining like gold under the morning sun.


End file.
